^wmrn: 


NUMA  ROOMESTAN 


DAUDET 


?i*3^a@ffii^iiSB8 


Hmnmauimi\mmimmtmmmmmimm\mmmmm 


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GEORGE  HOLMES  HOWISON 


J< 


•  ••••••• 

•  •  •  »•  •     •  • 


Uoupii,  .f  Cf  Par 


«.•         «    • 


\'-\y\0' 

' ::  .«••*' '•  Ofpyright,  1899,  1900, 

By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 

All  rights  reserved. 

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Ovju  ^  S  c-n"  -    '  \av  r^     U  .  b rav 

John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


NUMA  ROUMESTAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TO  THE  arena! 

That  Sunday  —  it  was  a  scorching  hot  Sunday 
in  July  at  the  time  of  the  yearly  competitions  for 
the  department  —  there  was  a  great  open-air  festi- 
val held  in  the  ancient  amphitheatre  of  Aps  in 
Provence.  All  the  town  was  there  —  the  weavers 
from  the  New  Road,  the  aristocrats  of  the  Calade 
quarter,  and  some  people  even  came  all  the  way 
frorh  Beaucaire. 

"  Fifty  thousand  persons  at  the  lowest  estimate," 
said  the  Forum  in  its  account  the  next  day;  but 
then  we  must  allow  for  Provengal  puffing. 

The  truth  was  that  an  enormous  crowd  was 
crushed  together  upon  the  sun-baked  stone 
benches  of  the  old  amphitheatre,  just  as  in  the 
palmy  days  of  the  Antonines,  and  it  was  evident 
that  the  meet  of  the  Society  of  Agriculture  was 
far  from  being  the  main  attraction  to  this  overflow 
of  the  folk.  Something  more  than  the  Landes 
horse-races  was  needed,  or  the  prize-fights  for  men 
and  "half  men,"  the  athletic  games  of  "strangle 
the  cat"  and  "jump  the  swineskin,"  or  the  contests 

I 


849204 


5  Numa  Roumesta7t, 

for  fifers  and  tabor-players,  as  old  a  story  to  the 

townspeople  as  the  ancient  red  stones  of  the  Arena ; 

something  more  was  needed  to  keep  this  multitude 

standing  for  two  hours  under  that  blinding,  murder- 

/'ous  surh,'.  upon  .'those  burning  flags,  breathing  in  an 

^  atpipsphere.  q-f  fl'a'me  and  dust  flavored  with  gun- 

;  \  pqwdei-;  riskihg  blindness,  sunstroke,  fevers  and  all 

the  other  dangers  and  tortures  attendant  on  what 

is    called    down   there    in    Provence    an    open-air 

festival. 

The  grand  attraction  of  the  annual  competitions 
was  Numa  Roumestan. 

Ah,  well;  the  proverb  "No  man  is  a  prophet" 
etc.  is  certainly  true  when  applied  to  painters  and 
poets,  whose  fellow-countrymen  in  fact  are  always 
the  last  to  acknowledge  their  claims  to  superiority 
for  whatever  is  ideal  and  lacking  in  tangible  re- 
sults ;  but  it  does  not  apply  to  statesmen,  to  politi- 
cal or  industrial  celebrities,  those  mighty  advertised 
fames  whose  currency  consists  of  favors  and  influ- 
ence, fames  that  reflect  their  glory  on  city  and 
townsmen  in  the  form  of  benefits  of  every  sort 
and  kind. 

For  the  last  ten  years  Numa,  the  great  Numa, 
leader  and  Deputy  representing  all  the  professions, 
has  been  the  prophet  of  Provence ;  for  ten  years 
the  town  of  Aps  has  shown  toward  her  illustrious  son 
the  tender  care  and  efl"usiveness  of  a  mother,  one 
of  those  mothers  of  the  South  quick  in  her  expres- 
sions, lively  in  her  exclamations  and  gesticulatory 
caresses. 

When  he  comes  each  summer  during  the  vaca- 


To  the  Arena!  x 

tion  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  the  ovation  be- 
gins as  soon  as  he  appears  at  the  station !  There 
are  the  Orpheons  swelHng  out  their  embroidered 
banners  as  they  intone  their  heroic  choral  songs. 
The  railway  porters  are  in  waiting,  seated  on  the 
steps  until  the  ancient  family  coach  which  always 
comes  for  the  "  leader  "  has  made  a  few  turns  of  its 
big  wheels  down  the  alley  of  big  plane-trees  on  the 
Avenue  Berchere ;  then  they  take  the  horses  out 
and  put  themselves  into  the  shafts  and  draw  the  great 
man  with  their  own  hands,  amid  the  shouts  of  the 
populace  and  the  waving  of  hats,  as  far  as  the  Portal 
mansion,  where  he  gets  out.  This  enthusiasm  has 
so  completely  passed  into  the  stage  of  tradition  in 
the  rites  of  his  arrival  that  the  horses  now  stop  of 
themselves,  like  a  team  in  a  post-chaise,  at  the  exact 
corner  where  they  are  accustomed  to  be  taken  out 
by  the  porters ;  no  amount  of  beating  could  induce 
them  to  go  a  step  farther. 

From  the  first  day  the  whole  city  has  changed 
its  appearance.  Here  is  no  longer  that  melan- 
choly palace  of  the  prefect  where  long  siestas  are 
lulled  by  the  strident  note  of  the  locusts  in  the 
parched  trees  on  the  Cours.  Even  in  the  hottest 
part  of  the  day  the  esplanade  is  alive  and  the 
streets  are  filled  with  hurrying  people  arrayed  in 
solemn  black  suits  and  hats  of  ceremony,  all 
sharply  defined  in  the  brilliant  sunlight,  the  shad- 
ows of  their  epileptic  gestures  cut  in  black  against 
the  white  walls. 

The  carriages  of  the  Bishop  and  the  President 
shake  the  highroad ;  then  delegations  arrive  from 


4  Numa  Roumestan, 

the  aristocratic  Faubourg  where  Roumestan  is 
adored  because  of  his  royalist  convictions;  next 
deputations  from 'the  women  warpers  march  in 
bands  the  width  of  the  street,  their  heads  held 
high  under  their  Arlesian  caps. 

The  inns  overflow  with  the  country  people, 
farmers  from  the  Camargue  or  the  Crau,  whose 
unhitched  wagons  crowd  the  small  squares  and 
streets  as  on  a  market  day.  In  the  evening  the 
cafes  crowded  with  people  remain  open  well  on 
into  the  night,  and  the  windows  of  the  club  of  the 
**  Whites,"  lighted  up  until  an  impossible  hour, 
vibrate  with  the  peals  of  a  voice  that  belongs  to 
the  popular  god. 

Not  a  prophet  in  his  own  country?  'T  was  only 
necessary  to  look  at  the  Arena  under  the  intense 
blue  sky  of  that  Sunday  of  July  1875,  note  the 
indifference  of  the  crowd  to  the  games  going  on 
in  the  circus  below,  and  all  the  faces  turned  in  the 
same  direction,  toward  the  municipal  platform, 
where  Roumestan  was  seated  surrounded  by  braided 
coats  and  sunshades  for  festivals  and  gay  dresses 
of  many-colored  silks.  'Twas  only  necessary  to 
listen  to  the  talk  and  cries  of  ecstasy  and  the 
simple  words  of  admiration  coming  in  loud  voices 
from  this  good  people  of  Aps,  some  expressed  in 
Provencal  and  some  in  a  barbarous  kind  of  French 
well  rubbed  with  garlic,  but  all  uttered  with  an 
accent  as  implacable  as  is  the  sun  down  there, 
an  accent  which  cuts  out  and  gives  its  own  to 
every  syllable  and  will  not  so  much  as  spare  us 
the  dot  over  an  *'  i." 


To  the  Arena!  r 

"  Diou!  qu'es  Mou  !  God  !  how  beautiful  he  is  !" 
'*  He  is  a  bit  stouter  than  he  was  last  year." 
"  That  makes  him  look  all  the  more  imposing." 
"  Don't  push  so  !  there  is  room  for  everybody ! " 
**  Look  at  him,  my  son ;  there 's  our  Numa. 
When  you  are  grown  up  you  can  say  that  you 
have  seen  him,  qu^ !'' 

**  His  Bourbon  nose  is  all  there !  and  not  one  of 
his  teeth  missing !  " 

"  Not  a  single  gray  hair,  either !  " 
"  Te\  I  should  say  not !  he  is  not  so  very  old  yet 
He  was  born  in  '32  —  the  year  that  Louis  Philippe 
pulled  down  the  mission  crosses,  peca'ir^  f" 
**  That  scoundrel  of  a  Philippe  !  " 
"  They  scarcely  show,  those  forty-three  years 
of  his." 

"  Sure  enough,  they  certainly  don't.  .  .  .  T^f 
here,  great  star  —  " 

And  with  a  bold  gesture  a  big  girl  with  burning 
eyes  throws  a  kiss  toward  him  from  afar  that  re- 
sounds through  the  air  like  the  cry  of  a  bird. 

"  Take  care,  Zette  —  suppose  his  wife  should 
see  you." 

"  The  one  in  blue,  is  that  his  wife }  " 
No,  the  lady  in  blue  was  his  sister-in-law.  Mile. 
Hortense,  a  pretty  girl  just  out  of  the  convent,  but 
one,  "they  say,  who  already  straddled  a  horse  just  as 
well  as  a  dragoon.  Mme.  Roumestan  was  more  dig- 
nified, more  thoroughbred  in  appearance,  but  she 
looked  much  haughtier.  These  Parisian  ladies  think 
so  much  of  themselves  !  And  so,  with  the  pictu- 
resque impudence  of  their  half-Latin  language,  the 


6  Numa  Roumestan, 

women,  standing  and  shading  their  eyes  with  their 
hands,  proceeded  in  loud  voices  deliberately  to 
pick  the  two  Parisians  to  pieces  —  their  simple 
little  travelling  hats,  their  close-fitting  dresses 
worn  without  jewelry,  which  were  so  great  a  con- 
trast to  the  local  toilettes,  in  which  gold  chains 
and  red  and  green  skirts  puffed  out  by  enormous 
bustles  prevailed. 

The  men  talked  of  the  services  rendered  by  Numa 
to  the  good  cause,  of  his  letter  to  the  Emperor, 
and  his  speeches  for  the  White  Flag.  Oh,  if  we 
had  only  a  dozen  men  in  the  Chamber  like  him, 
Henry  V  would  have  been  on  his  throne  long  ago  ! 

Intoxicated  by  this  circumambient  enthusiasm 
and  wrought  up  by  these  remarks,  Numa  could  not 
remain  quiet  in  one  spot.  He  threw  himself  back 
in  his  great  arm-chair,  his  eyes  shut,  his  expres- 
sion ecstatic,  and  swayed  himself  restlessly  back 
and  forth ;  then,  rising,  he  strode  up  and  down  the 
platform  and  leaned  over  toward  the  arena  to 
breathe  in  as  it  were  all  the  light  and  cries,  and 
then  returned  to  his  seat.  Jovial  and  unceremoni- 
ous, his  necktie  loose,  he  knelt  on  his  chair,  his 
back  and  his  boot-soles  turned  to  the  crowd,  and 
conversed  with  his  Paris  ladies  seated  above  and 
behind  him,  trying  to  inoculate  them  with  his 
own  joy  and  satisfaction. 

Mme.  Roumestan  was  bored  —  that  was  evident 
from  the  expression  of  abstracted  indifference  on 
her  face,  which  though  beautiful  in  lines  seemed 
cold  and  a  little  haughty  when  not  enlivened  by 
the  light  of  two  gray  eyes,  two  eyes  like  pearls, 


To  the  Arena!  7 

true  Parisian  eyes,  and  by  the  dazzling  effect  of 
the  smile  on  her  slightly  open  mouth. 

All  this  southern  gayety,  made  up  of  turbulence 
and  familiarity,  and  this  wordy  race  all  on  the 
outside  and  the  surface,  whose  nature  was  so  much 
the  opposite  of  her  own,  which  was  serious  and 
self-contained,  grated  on  her  perhaps  unconscious- 
ly, because  she  saw  in  them  multiplied  and 
vulgarized  the  same  type  as  that  of  the  man  at 
whose  side  she  had  lived  ten  years,  whom  she 
had  learned  to  know  to  her  cost.  The  glaring  hot 
blue  sky,  so  excessively  brilliant  and  vibrating 
with  heat,  was  also  not  to  her  liking.  How  could 
these  people  breathe?  Where  did  they  find  breath 
enough  to  shout  so?  She  took  it  into  her  head 
to  speak  her  thought  aloud,  how  delightful  a  nice 
gray  misty  sky  of  Paris  would  be,  and  how  a  fresh 
spring  shower  would  cool  the  pavements  and  make 
them  glisten ! 

'*  Oh,  Rosalie,  how  can  you  talk  so !  " 
Her  husband  and  sister  were  quite  indignant, 
especially  her  sister,  a  tall  young  girl  in  the  full 
bloom  of  youth  and  health,  who,  the  better  to  see 
everything,  was  making  herself  as  tall  as  possible. 
It  was  her  first  visit  to  Provence,  and  yet  one 
might  have  thought  that  these  shouts  and  gestures 
beneath  the  burning  Italian  sky  had  stirred  within 
her  some  secret  fibre,  some  dormant  instinct,  her 
southern  origin,  in  fact,  which  was  revealed  in  the 
heavy  eyebrows  meeting  over  her  houri-like  eyes, 
and  her  pale  complexion,  on  which  the  fierce 
summer  sun  left  not  one  red  mark. 


8  Numa  Roicmestan, 

*'Do,  please,  Rosalie  !  "  pleaded  Roumestan,who 
was  determined  to  persuade  his  wife.  "  Get  up 
and  look  at  that.  Did  Paris  ever  show  you  any- 
thing like  that?" 

In  the  vast  theatre  widening  into  an  ellipse 
that  made  a  great  jag  in  the  blue  sky,  thousands 
of  faces  were  packed  together  on  the  many  rows 
of  benches  rising  in  terraces ;  bright  eyes  made 
luminous  points,  while  bright  colored  and  pictu- 
resque costumes  spangled  the  whole  mass  with 
butterfly  tints.  Thence,  as  from  a  huge  caldron, 
rose  a  chorus  of  joyous  shouts,  the  ringing  of 
voices  and  the  blare  of  trumpets  volatilized,  as  it 
were,  by  the  intense  light  of  the  sun.  Hardly 
audible  on  the  lower  stories,  where  dust,  sand  and 
human  breath  formed  a  floating  cloud,  this  din 
grew  louder  as  it  rose  and  became  more  distinct 
and  unveiled  itself  in  the  purer  air.  Above  all 
rang  out  the  cry  of  the  milk-roll  venders,  who  bore 
from  tier  to  tier  their  baskets  draped  with  white 
linen:  ''■Li  pan  on  la^  li  pan  on  la!''  (Here's 
your  milk  bread,  here's  your  milk  bread!)  The 
sellers  of  drinking-water,  cleverly  balancing  their 
green  glazed  pitchers,  made  one  thirsty  just  to 
hear  them  cry :  "  Vaigo  es  fresco !  Qnau  von 
benre  ?  "     (The  water  's  fresh  !      Who  will  drink?) 

Up  on  the  highest  brim  of  the  amphitheatre, 
high  up,  groups  of  children  playing  and  running 
noisily  added  a  crown  of  sharp  calls  to  the  mass 
of  noise  below,  much  like  a  flock  of  martins  soar- 
ing high  above  the  other  birds. 

And  over  all  of  it,  how  wonderful  was  the  play 


To  the  Arena!  o 

of  light  and  shadow,  as  with  the  advance  of  day 
the  sun  turned  slowly  in  the  hollow  of  the  vast 
amphitheatre  as  it  might  on  the  disk  of  a  sun- 
dial, driving  the  crowd  along,  and  grouping  it  in 
the  zone  of  shade,  leaving  empty  those  parts  of 
the  vast  structure  exposed  to  a  terrible  heat  — 
broad  stretches  of  red  flags  fringed  with  dry  grass 
where  successive  conflagrations  have  left  their 
mark  in  black. 

At  times  a  stone  would  detach  itself  in  the  top- 
most tier  of  the  ancient  monument,  and,  rolling 
down  from  story  to  story,  cause  cries  of  terror 
and  much  crowding  among  the  people  below,  as 
if  the  whole  edifice  were  about  to  crumble;  then 
on  the  tiers  there  was  a  movement  like  the  assault  of 
a  raging  sea  on  the  dunes,  for  with  this  exuberant 
race  the  effect  of  a  thing  never  has  any  relation  to 
its  cause,  enlarged  as  it  is  by  dreams  and  percep- 
tions that  lack  all  sense  of  proportion. 

Thus  peopled  and  thus  animated  once  more,  the 
ancient  ruin  seemed  to  live  again,  and  no  longer 
retain  its  appearance  of  a  showplace  for  tourists. 
Looking  thereon,  it  gave  one  the  sensation  of  a 
poem  by  Pindar  recited  by  a  modern  Greek,  which 
means  a  dead  language  come  to  life  again,  having 
lost  its  cold  scholarly  look.  The  clear  sky,  the 
sun  like  silver  turned  to  vapor,  these  Latin  intona- 
tions still  preserved  in  the  Proven9al  idiom,  and 
here  and  there,  particularly  in  the  cheap  seats,  the 
poses  of  the  people  in  the  opening  of  a  vaulted 
passage  —  motionless  attitudes  made  antique  and 
almost  sculptural  by  the  vibration  of  the  air,  local 


lO  Numa  Roumestan, 

types,  profiles  standing  out  like  those  on  ancient 
coins,  with  the  short  aquihne  nose,  broad  shaven 
cheeks  and  upturned  chin  that  Numa  showed;  all 
this  filled  out  the  idea  of  a  Roman  festival  —  even 
to  the  lowing  of  the  cows  from  the  Landes  which 
echoed  through  the  vaults  below  —  those  vaults 
whence  in  olden  days  lions  and  elephants  were 
wont  to  issue  to  the  combat.  Thus,  when  the 
great  black  hole  of  the  podium,  closed  by  a  grat- 
ing, stood  open  to  the  arena  all  empty  and  yellow 
with  sand,  one  almost  expected  to  see  wild  beasts 
spring  out  instead  of  the  peaceful  bucolic  pro- 
cession of  men  and  of  the  animals  that  had  received- 
prizes  in  the  competitions. 

At  the  moment  it  was  the  turn  of  the  mules  led 
along  in  harness,  sumptuously  arrayed  in  rich  Pro- 
vencal trappings,  carrying  proudly  their  slender 
little  heads  adorned  with  silver  bells,  rosettes, 
ribbons  and  feathers,  not  in  the  least  alarmed  at  the 
fierce  cracking  of  whips  clear  and  sharply  cut, 
swung  serpent-like  or  in  volleys  by  the  muleteers, 
each  one  standing  up  full  length  upon  his  beast. 
In  the  crowd  each  village  recognized  its  champions 
and  named  each  one  aloud : 

"  There  's  Cavaillon  !  There  's  Maussane  !  " 
The  long,  richly-colored  file  rolled  its  slow 
length  around  the  arena  to  the  sound  of  musical 
bells  and  jingling,  glittering  harness,  and  stopped 
before  the  municipal  platform  and  saluted  Numa 
with  a  serenade  of  whip-crackings  and  bells ;  then 
passed  along  on  its  circular  course  under  the  leader- 
ship of  a  fine-looking  horseman  in  white  tights  and 


To  the  Arena!  il 

high  top-boots,  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  local 
club  who  had  planned  the  function  and  quite  un- 
consciously had  struck  a  false  note  in  its  harmony, 
mixing  provincialism  with  Provencal  things  and 
thus  giving  to  this  curious  local  festival  a  vague 
flavor  of  a  procession  of  riders  at  Franconi's  circus. 
However,  apart  from  a  few  country  people,  no  one 
paid  much  attention  to  him.  No  one  had  eyes  for 
anything  but  the  grand  stand,  crowded  just  then 
with  persons  who  wished  to  shake  hands  with 
Numa — friends,  clients,  old  college  chums,  who 
were  proud  of  their  relations  with  the  great  man 
and  wished  all  the  world  to  see  them  conversing 
with  him  and  proposed  to  show  themselves  there 
on  the  benches,  well  in  sight. 

Flood  of  visitors  succeeded  flood  without  a  break. 
There  were  old  men  and  young  men,  country  gentle- 
men dressed  all  in  gray  from  their  gaiters  to  their 
little  hats,  managers  of  shops  in  their  best  clothes 
creased  from  much  lying  away  in  presses,  menagers 
or  farmers  from  the  district  of  Aps  in  their  round 
jackets,  a  pilot  from  Port  St.  Louis  twirling  his  big 
prisoner's  cap  in  his  hands  —  all  bearing  their 
"  South  "  stamped  upon  their  faces,  whether  cov- 
ered to  the  eyes  with  those  purple-black  beards 
which  the  Oriental  pallor  of  their  complexion 
accentuates,  or  closely  shaven  after  the  ancient 
French  fashion,  short-necked  ruddy  people  sweat- 
ing like  terra  cotta  water  coolers ;  all  of  them  with 
flaming  black  eyes  sticking  well  out  from  the  face, 
gesticulating  in  a  familiar  way  and  calling  each 
other  ''thee"  and  "thou"! 


12  Numa  Roumestan. 

And  how  Roumestan  did  receive  them,  without 
distinction  of  birth  or  class  or  fortune,  all  with  the 
same  unquenchable  effusiveness !  It  was :  "  7"/, 
Monsieur  d'Espalion !  and  how  are  you,  Mar- 
quis?" ''He  b^ !  old  Cabantous,  how  goes  the 
piloting?"  "Delighted  to  see  you,  President 
B^darride  ! " 

Then  came  shaking  of  hands,  embraces,  solid 
taps  on  the  shoulder  that  give  double  value  to 
words  spoken,  which  are  always  too  cold  for  the 
intense  feeling  of  the  Provengal.  To  be  sure,  the 
conversations  were  of  short  duration.  Their 
"  leader  "  gave  but  a  divided  attention,  and  as  he 
chatted  he  waved  how-d'ye-do  with  his  hand  to 
the  new-comers.  But  nobody  resented  this  un- 
ceremonious way  of  dismissing  people  with  a  few 
kind  words:  "Yes,  yes,  I  won't  forget  —  send  in 
your  claim  —  I  will  take  it  with  me." 

There  were  promises  of  government  tobacco 
shops  and  collectors'  offices;  what  they  did  not 
ask  for  he  seemed  to  divine  ;  he  encouraged  timid 
ambitions  and  provoked  them  with  kindly  words: 

"  What,  no  medal  yet,  my  old  Cabantous,  after 
you  have  saved  twenty  lives?  Send  me  your 
papers.  They  adore  me  at  the  Navy  Department. 
We  must  repair  this  injustice." 

His  voice  rang  out  warm  and  metallic,  stamping 
and  separating  each  word.  One  would  have  said  that 
each  one  was  a  gold  piece  rolling  out  fresh  from 
the  mint.  And  every  one  went  away  delighted 
with  this  shining  coin,  leaving  the  platform  with  the 
beaming  look  of  the  pupil  who  has  been  awarded 


To  the  Arena!  13 

a  prize.  The  most  wonderful  thing  about  this  devil 
of  a  man  was  his  prodigious  suppleness  in  assum- 
ing the  air  and  manner  of  the  person  to  whom  he  was 
speaking,  and  perfectly  naturally,  too,  apparently  in 
the  most  unconscious  way  in  the  world. 

With  President  Bedarride  he  was  unctuous, 
smooth  in  gestures,  his  mouth  fixed  affectedly  and 
his  arm  stretched  forth  in  a  magisterial  fashion  as 
if  he  were  tossing  aside  his  lawyer's  toga  before  the 
judge's  seat.  When  talking  to  Colonel  Roche- 
maure  he  assumed  a  soldierly  bearing,  his  hat 
slapped  on  one  side ;  while  with  Cabantous  he 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  bowed  his  legs 
and  rolled  his  shoulders  as  he  walked,  just  like  an 
old  sea-dog.  From  time  to  time,  between  two 
embraces  as  it  were,  he  turned  to  his  Parisian 
guests,  beaming  and  wiping  his  steaming  brow. 

'*  But,  my  dear  Numa !  "  cried  Hortense  in  a  low 
voice  with  her  pretty  laugh,  "■  where  will  you  find 
all  these  tobacco  shops  you  have  been  promising 
them?" 

Roumestan  bent  his  large  head  with  its  crop  of 
close  curling  hair  slightly  thinned  at  the  top  and 
whispered  :  "  They  are  promised,  little  sister,  not 
given." 

And,  fancying  a  reproach  in  his  wife's  silence,  he 
added: 

"  Do  not  forget  that  we  are  in  Provence,  where 
we  understand  each  other's  language.  All  these 
good  fellows  understand  what  a  promise  is  worth. 
They  don't  expect  to  get  the  shops  any  more 
positively  than  I  count  on  giving  them.     But  they 


14  Numa  Roumestan, 

chatter  about  them  —  which  amuses  them  —  and 
their  imaginations  are  at  work :  why  deprive  them 
of  that  pleasure?  Besides,  you  must  know  that 
among  us  Southerners  words  have  only  a  relative 
meaning.  It  is  merely  putting  things  in  their 
proper  focus."  The  phrase  seemed  to  please  him, 
for  he  repeated  several  times  the  final  words,  "  in 
their  proper  focus  —  in  their  proper  focus  —  " 

"  I  like  these  people,"  said  Hortense,  who  really 
seemed  to  be  amusing  herself  immensely;  but 
Rosalie  was  not  to  be  convinced.  "  Still,  words  do 
signify  something,"  she  murmured  very  seriously, 
as  if  communing  with  her  own  soul. 

''  My  dear,  it  is  a  simple  question  of  latitude." 
Roumestan  accompanied  his  paradox  with  a  jerk  of 
the  shoulder  peculiar  to  him,  Hke  that  of  a  peddler 
putting  up  his  pack.  The  great  orator  of  the 
aristocracy  retained  several  personal  tricks  of  this 
kind,  of  which  he  had  never  been  able  to  break 
himself — tricks  that  might  have  caused  him  in 
another  political  party  to  seem  a  representative  of 
the  common  folk ;  but  it  was  a  proof  of  power  and 
of  singular  originaHty  in  those  aristocratic  heights 
where  he  sat  enthroned  between  the  Prince  of 
Anhalt  and  the  Due  de  la  Rochetaillade.  The 
Faubourg  St.  Germain  went  wild  over  this  shoul- 
der-jerk coming  from  the  broad  stalwart  back  that 
carried  the  hopes  of  the  French  monarchy. 

If  Mme.  Roumestan  had  ever  shared  the 
illusions  of  the  Faubourg  she  did  so  no  longer, 
judging  from  her  look  of  disenchantment  and  the 
little  smile  with  which  she  Hstened  to  her  husband's 


To  the  Arena!  15 

words,  a  smile  paler  with  melancholy  than  with  dis- 
dain. But  he  left  them  suddenly,  attracted  by  the 
sound  of  some  peculiar  music  that  came  to  them 
from  the  arena  below.  The  crowd  in  great  ex- 
citement was  on  its  feet  shouting  ''  Valmajour ! 
Valmajour !  " 

Having  taken  the  musicians'  prize  the  day  be- 
fore, the  famous  Valmajour,  the  greatest  taborist 
of  Provence,  had  come  to  honor  Numa  with  his 
finest  airs.  In  truth  he  was  a  handsome  youth, 
this  same  Valmajour,  as  he  stood  in  the  centre  of 
the  arena,  his  coat  of  yellow  wool  hanging  from 
one  shoulder  and  a  scarlet  belt  standing  out  against 
the  white  linen  of  his  shirt.  Suspended  from  his 
left  arm  he  carried  his  long  light  tabor  by  a  strap 
and  with  his  left  hand  held  a  small  fife  to  his  lips, 
while  with  his  right  hand  and  his  right  leg  held 
forward  he  played  on  his  tabor  with  a  brave  and 
gallant  air.  The  fife,  though  but  small,  filled  the 
whole  place  like  a  chorus  of  locusts ;  appropriate 
music  in  this  limpid  crystalline  atmosphere  in 
which  all  sounds  vibrate,  while  the  deep  notes  of 
the  tabor  supported  this  peculiar  singing  and  its 
many  variations. 

The  sound  of  the  wild,  sharp  music  brought 
back  his  childhood  to  Numa  more  vividly  than 
anything  else  that  he  had  seen  that  day;  he  saw 
himself  a  little  Provence  boy  running  about  to 
country  fairs,  dancing  under  the  leafy  shadow  of 
the  plane-trees,  on  village  squares,  in  the  white  dust 
of  the  highroads,  or  over  the  lavender  flowers  ,of 
sun-parched  hillsides.    A  delicious  emotion  passed 


1 6  Numa  Roumesta7t, 

through  his  eyes,  for,  notwithstanding  his  forty 
years  and  the  parching  effects  of  political  life,  he 
still  retained  a  good  portion  of  imagination,  thanks 
to  the  kindliness  of  nature,  a  surface-sensibility 
that  is  so  deceptive  to  those  who  do  not  know  the 
true  bottom  of  a  man's  character. 

And  besides,  Valmajour  was  not  an  everyday 
taborist,  one  of  those  common  minstrels  who  pick 
up  music-hall  catches  and  odds  and  ends  of  music 
at  country   fairs,    degrading  their   instrument   by 
trying  to  cater  to  modern  taste.     Son  and  grand- 
son of  taborists,  he  played  only  the  songs  of  his 
native  land,  songs  crooned  during  night  watches  over 
cradles  by  grandmothers ;  and  these  he  did  know ; 
he  never  wearied  of  them.      After  playing  some 
of  Saboly's  rhythmical  Christmas  carols  arranged 
as  minuets  and  quadrilles,  he  started  the  "  March 
of  the  Kings,"  to  the  tune  of  which,  during  the 
grand  epoch,  Turenne  conquered  and  burned  the 
Palatinate.    Along  the  benches  where  but  a  moment 
before  one  heard  the  humming  of  popular  airs  like 
the  swarming  of  bees,  the  delighted  crowd  began 
keeping  time  with  their  arms  and  heads,   following 
the  splendid  rhythm  which  surged  along  through 
the  grand  silences  of  the  theatre  like  mistral,  that 
mighty  wind ;   silences  only  broken   by  the    mad 
twittering  of  swallows  that  flew  about  hither  and 
thither  in  the  bluish  green  vault  above,  disquieted, 
and  as  it  were  crazy,  as  if  trying  to  discover  what 
unseen  bird  it  was  that  gave  forth  these  wonder- 
fully high  and  sharp  notes. 

When  Valmajour  had  finished,  wild  shouts  of 


To  the  Arena!  17 

applause  burst  forth.  Hats  and  handkerchiefs 
flew  into  the  air.  Numa  called  the  musician  up  to 
the  platform,  and  throwing  his  arms  around  his 
neck  exclaimed :  ''  You  have  made  me  weep,  my 
boy."  And  he  showed  his  big  golden-brown  eyes 
all  swimming  in  tears. 

Very  proud  to  find  himself  in  such  exalted  com- 
pany, among  embroidered  coats  and  the  mother- 
of-pearl  handles  of  official  swords,  the  musician 
accepted  these  praises  and  embraces  without  any 
great  embarrassment.  He  was  a  good-looking 
fellow  with  a  well  shaped  head,  broad  forehead, 
beard  and  moustache  of  lustrous  black  against  a 
swarthy  skin,  one  of  those  proud  peasants  from 
the  valley  of  the  Rhone  who  have  none  of  the 
artful  humility  of  the  peasants  of  central  France. 

Hortense  had  noticed  at  once  how  delicately 
formed  were  his  hands  under  their  covering  of  sun- 
burn. She  examined  the  tabor  with  its  ivory-tipped 
drum-stick  and  was  astonished  at  the  lightness  of  the 
old  instrument,  which  had  been  in  his  family  for  two 
hundred  years,  and  whose  case  curiously  carved  in 
walnut  wood,  decked  with  light  carvings,  polished, 
thin  and  sonorous,  seemed  to  have  grown  pliable 
under  the  patina  time  had  lent  it.  They  admired 
above  all  the  little  old  fife,  that  simple  rustic  flute 
with  three  stops  only,  such  as  the  ancient  taborists 
used,  to  which  Valmajour  had  returned  out  of  re- 
spect for  tradition  and  the  management  of  which 
he  had  conquered  after  infinite  pains  and  patience. 
Nothing  more  touching  than  to  hear  the  little  tale  of 
his  struggles  and  victory  in  an  odd  sort  of  French, 


1 8  Numa  Roumestan, 

"It  come  to  me  in  the  night,"  he  said,  "as  I 
listened  me  to  the  nightingawles.  Thought  I  \\\ 
meself — look  there,  Valmajour,  there's  a  little 
birrd  o'  God  whose  throat  alone  is  equal  to  all  the 
trills.  Now,  what  he  can  do  with  one  stop,  can't 
you  accomplish  with  the  three  holes  in  your  little 
flute?" 

He  talked  quietly,  with  a  perfectly  confident 
tone  of  voice,  without  a  suspicion  of  being  ridicu- 
lous. No  one  indeed  would  have  dared  to  smile 
in  the  face  of  Numa's  enthusiasm,  for  he  was 
throwing  up  his  arms  and  stamping  so  that  he 
almost  went  through  the  platform.  "  How  hand-  , 
some  he  is !  What  an  artist !  "  And  after  him  the 
Mayor  and  President  Bedarride  and  the  General 
and  M.  Roumavage,  the  big  brewer  from  Beau- 
caire,  vice-consul  of  Peru,  tightly  buttoned  into 
a  carnival  costume  all  over  silver,  echoed  the  sen- 
timents of  the  leader,  repeating  in  convinced  tones : 
"  What  a  great  artist !  " 

Hortense  agreed  with  them,  and  in  her  usual  im- 
pulsive manner  expressed  her  sentiments:  "Oh, 
yes,  a  great  artist  indeed  "  while  Mme.  Roumestan 
murmured  "  You  will  turn  his  head,  poor  fellow." 

But  there  seemed  to  be  no  fear  of  this  for  Val- 
majour, to  judge  by  his  tranquil  air;  he  was  not 
even  in  the  least  excited  on  hearing  Numa  suddenly 
exclaim : 

"  Come  to  Paris,  my  boy,  your  fortune  is 
assured !  " 

"Oh,  my  sister  never  would  let  me  go,"  he 
explained  with  a  quiet  smile. 


To  the  Are7ia!  19 

His  mother  was  dead  and  he  Hved  with  his 
father  and  sister  on  a  farm  that  bore  the  family 
name  some  three  leagues  distant  from  Aps  on 
the  Cordova  mountain.  Numa  swore  he  would  go 
to  see  him  before  he  returned  to  Paris ;  he  would 
talk  to  his  relations  —  he  was  sure  to  make  it 
a  go. 

"And  I  will  help  you,  Numa,"  said  a  girlish 
Voice  behind  him. 

Valmajour  bowed  without  speaking,  turned  on 
his  heel  and  walked  down  the  broad  carpet  of  the 
platform,  his  tabor  under  his  arm,  his  head  held 
high  and  in  his  gait  that  light,  swaying  motion  of 
the  hips  common  to  the  Provencal,  a  lover  of 
dancing  and  rhythm.  Down  below  his  comrades 
were  waiting  for  him  and  shook  him  by  the  hand. 

Suddenly  a  cry  arose,  '*  The  farandole,  the  faran- 
dole,"  a  shout  without  end  doubled  by  the  echoes 
of  the  stone  passages  and  corridors  from  which  the 
shadows  and  freshness  seemed  to  come  which  were 
now  invading  the  arena  and  ever  diminishing  the 
zone  of  sunlight.  In  a  moment  the  arena  was 
crowded,  crammed  to  suffocation  with  merry 
dancers,  a  regular  village  crowd  of  girls  in  white 
neckscarfs  and  bright  dresses,  velvet  ribbons  nod- 
ding on  lace  caps,  and  of  men  in  braided  blouses 
and  colored  waistcoats. 

At  the  signal  from  the  tabor  that  mob  fell  into 
line  and  filed  off  in  bands,  holding  each  other's 
hands,  their  legs  all  eager  for  the  steps.  A  pro- 
longed trill  from  the  fife  made  the  whole  circus 
undulate,   and  led   by  a  man  from  Barbantane,  a 


20  Numa  Roumestan. 

district  famous  for  its  dancers,  the  farandole  slowly 
began  its  march,  unwinding  its  rings,  executing  its 
figures  almost  on  one  spot,  filling  with  its  confused 
noise  of  rustling  garments  and  heavy  breathing  the 
huge  vaulted  passage  of  the  outlet  in  which,  bit  by 
bit,  it  was  swallowed  up. 

Valmajour  followed  them  with  even  steps, 
solemnly,  managing  his  long  tabor  with  his  knee, 
while  he  played  louder  and  louder  upon  the  fife, 
as  the  closely  packed  crowd  in  the  arena,  already 
plunged  in  the  bluish  gray  of  the  twilight,  un- 
wound itself  like  a  bobbin  filled  with  silk  and  gold 
thread. 

'•  Look  up  there !  "  said  Roumestan  all  of  a 
sudden. 

It  was  the  head  of  the  line  of  dancers  pouring 
in  through  the  arches  of  the  second  tier,  while  the 
musician  and  the  last  line  of  dancers  were  still 
stepping  about  in  the  arena.  As  it  proceeded  the 
farandole  took  up  in  its  folds  everybody  whom  the 
rhythm  forced  to  join  in  the  dance.  What  Pro- 
vencal could  have  resisted  the  magic  flute  of  Val- 
majour? Upborne  and  shot  forward  by  the 
rebounding  undernote  of  the  tabor,  his  music 
seemed  to  be  playing  on  every  tier  at  the  same 
time,  passing  the  gratings  and  the  open  donjons, 
overtopping  the  cries  of  the  crowd.  So  the  faran- 
dole climbed  higher  and  higher,  and  reached  at 
last  the  uppermost  tier,  where  the  sun  was  yet 
glowing  with  a  tawny  light.  The  outlines  of  the 
long  procession  of  dancers,  bounding  in  their 
solemn  dance,  etched  themselves  against  the  high 


To  the  Arena!  21 

panelled  bays  of  the  upper  tier  in  the  hot  vibration 
of  that  July  afternoon,  like  a  row  of  fine  silhouettes 
or  a  series  of  bas-reliefs  in  antique  stone  on  the 
sculptured  pediment  of  some  ruined  temple. 

Down  below  on  the  deserted  platform  —  for 
people  were  beginning  to  leave  and  the  lower 
tiers  were  empty  —  Numa  said  to  his  wife  as  he 
wrapped  a  lace  shawl  about  her  to  protect  her 
from  the  evening  chill: 

**  Now,  really,  is  it  not  beautiful?  " 

"  Very  beautiful,"  answered  the  Parisian,  moved 
this  time  to  the  depths  of  her  artistic  nature. 

And  the  great  man  of  Aps  seemed  prouder  of 
this  simple  word  of  approbation  than  of  all  the 
noisy  homage  with  which  he  had  been  surfeited 
for  the  last  two  hours. 


22 


Numa  Roumestan. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  SEAMY   SIDE   OF  A   GREAT   MAN. 

NuMA  Roumestan  was  twenty-two  years  old 
when  he  came  to  Paris  to  complete  the  law  stud- 
ies which  he  had  begun  at  Aix.  At  that  time  he 
was  a  good  enough  kind  of  a  fellow,  light-hearted, 
boisterous,  full-blooded,  with  big,  handsome,  promi- 
nent eyes  of  a  golden-brown  color  and  somewhat 
frog-like,  and  a  heavy  mop  of  naturally  curling 
hair  which  grew  low  on  his  forehead  like  a  woollen 
cap  without  a  visor.  There  was  not  the  shadow  of 
an  idea,  not  the  ghost  of  an  ambition  beneath  that 
encroaching  thatch  of  his.  He  was  a  typical  Aix 
student,  a  good  billiard  and  card  player,  without  a 
rival  in  his  capacity  for  drinking  champagne  and 
"going  on  the  cat-hunt  with  torches"  until  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  through  the  wide  streets  of 
the  old  aristocratic  and  Parliamentary  town.  But 
he  was  interested  in  absolutely  nothing.  He  never 
read  a  book  nor  even  a  newspaper,  and  was  deep 
in  the  mire  of  that  provincial  folly  which  shrugs  its 
shoulders  at  everything  and  hides  its  ignorance 
under  a  pretence  of  plain  common-sense. 

Arrived  in  Paris,  the  Quartier  Latin  woke  him  up 
a  little,  although  there  was  small  reason  for  it. 
Like  all  his  compatriots  Numa  installed  himself 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     23 

as  soon  as  he  arrived  at  the  Cafe  Malmus,  a  tall 
and  noisy  barrack  of  a  place  with  three  stories  of 
tall  windows,  as  high  as  those  in  a  department 
shop,  on  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Four  Saint  Ger- 
main. It  filled  the  street  with  the  noise  of  bil- 
liard playing  and  the  vociferations  of  its  clients,  a 
regular  horde  of  savages.  The  entire  South  of 
France  loomed  and  spread  itself  there ;  every 
shade  of  it !  Specimens  of  the  southern  French 
Gascon,  the  Provencal,  the  Bordeaux  man,  the 
Toulousian  and  Marseilles  man,  samples  of  the 
Auvergnat  and  Perigordian  Southerner,  him  of 
Ariege,  of  the  Ard^che  and  the  Pyrenees,  all 
with  names  ending  in  **  as,"  *'  us  "  and  ''  ac,"  re- 
sounding, sonorous  and  barbarous,  such  as  Etch- 
everry,  Terminarias,  Bentaboulech,  Laboulbene  — 
names  that  sounded  as  if  hurled  from  the  mouth 
of  a  blunderbuss  or  exploded  as  from  a  powder 
mine,  so  fierce  were  the  ejaculations.  And  what 
shouts  and  wasted  breath  merely  to  call  for  a  cup 
of  coffee ;  what  resounding  laughter,  like  the  noise 
of  a  load  of  stones  shunted  from  a  cart;  what 
gigantic  beards,  too  stiff,  too  black,  with  a  bluish 
tinge,  beards  that  defied  the  razor,  growing  up  into 
the  eyes  and  joining  on  to  the  eyebrows,  sprouted 
in  little  tufts  in  the  broad  equine  nostrils  and  ears, 
but  never  able  utterly  to  conceal  the  youth  and  in- 
nocence of  these  good  honest  faces  hidden  beneath 
such  tropical  growths. 

When  not  at  their  lectures,  which  they  attended 
conscientiously,  these  students  passed  their  entire 
time    at   Malmus's,    falling  naturally   into  groups 


24  Numa  Roumestan, 

according  to  their  provinces  or  even  their  parishes, 
seated  around  the  same  old  tables  handed  down  to 
them  by  tradition,  which  might  have  retained  the 
twang  of  their  patois  in  the  echoes  of  their  marble 
tops,  just  as  the  desks  of  school-rooms  retain  the 
initials  carved  on  them  by  school-boys. 

Women  in  that  company  were  few  and  far  be- 
tween, scarcely  two  or  three  to  a  story,  poor  girls 
whom  their  lovers  brought  there  in  a  shamefaced 
way  only  to  pass  an  evening  beside  them  behind  a 
glass  of  beer,  looking  over  the  illustrated  papers, 
silent  and  feeling  very  out  of  place  among  these 
Southern  youths  who  had  been  bought  up  to  de- 
spise loii  f^mdan  —  females.  Mistresses?  Te ! 
By  Jove,  they  knew  where  to  get  them  whenever 
they  wanted  them  for  an  hour  or  a  night;  but 
never  for  long.  Bullier's  ball  and  the  "  howlers  " 
did  not  tempt  them,  nor  the  late  suppers  of  the 
rotisseuse.  They  much  preferred  to  stay  at  Mal- 
mus's,  talk  patois,  and  roll  leisurely  from  the  cafe 
to  the  schools  and  then  to  the  table  d'hote. 

If  they  ever  crossed  the  Seine  it  was  to  go  to 
the  Theatre  Francais  to  a  performance  of  one  of 
the  old  plays ;  for  the  Southerner  always  has  the  clas- 
sic thing  in  his  blood.  They  would  go  in  a  crowd, 
talking  and  laughing  loudly  in  the  street,  though 
in  reality  feeling  rather  timid,  and  then  return 
silent  and  subdued,  their  eyes  dazed  by  the  dust 
of  the  tragic  scenes  they  had  just  witnessed,  and 
with  closed  blinds  and  gas  turned  low  would  have 
another  game  before  they  went  to  bed. 

Sometimes,  on  the  occasion  of  the  graduation 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man.     25 

of  one  of  their  number,  an  impromptu  feed  would 
make  the  whole  house  redolent  of  garlic  stews  and 
mountain  cheeses  smelling  strong  and  rotting  nicely 
in  their  blue  paper  wrappers.  After  his  farewell 
dinner  the  new  owner  of  a  sheepskin  would  take 
down  from  the  rack  the  pipe  that  bore  his  initials 
and  sally  forth  to  be  notary  or  deputy  in  some  far- 
away hole  beyond  the  Loire,  there  to  talk  to  his 
friends  in  the  provinces  about  Paris  —  Paris  which 
he  thought  he  knew,  but  in  which  really  he  had 
never  set  his  foot ! 

In  this  narrow  local  circle  Numa  readily  assumed 
the  eagle's  place.  To  begin  with,  he  shouted  louder 
than  the  others,  and  then  his  music  was  looked 
upon  as  a  sign  of  superiority ;  at  any  rate  there  was 
some  originality  in  his  very  lively  taste  for  music. 
Two  or  three  times  a  week  he  treated  himself  to  a 
stall  at  the  opera  and  when  he  came  back  he  over- 
flowed with  recitatives  and  arias,  which  he  sang 
quite  agreeably  in  a  pretty  good  throaty  voice 
that  rebelled  against  all  cultivation.  When  he 
strode  into  the  Cafe  Malmus  in  a  theatrical  man- 
ner, singing  some  bit  of  Italian  music  as  he  passed 
the  tables,  peals  of  admiration  welcomed  him: 
"Hello,  old  artist!"  tlie  boys  would  shout  from 
every  gang.  It  was  just  like  a  club  of  ordinary 
citizens  in  this  respect:  owing  to  his  reputation 
as  a  musical  artist  all  the  women  gave  him  a  warm 
look,  but  the  men  would  use  the  term  enviously 
and  with  a  suggestion  of  irony.  This  artistic  fame 
did  him  good  service  later  when  he  came  to  power 
and  entered  public  life.     Even  now  the  name  of 


26  Numa  Roumestan, 

Roumestan  figures  high  on  the  list  of  all  artistic 
commissions,  plans  for  popular  operas,  reforms  in 
exhibitions  of  paintings  proposed  in  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies.  All  that  was  the  result  of  evenings 
spent  in  haunting  the  music-halls.  He  learned 
there  self-confidence,  the  actor's  pose,  and  a  cer- 
tain way  of  taking  up  a  position  three-quarters 
front  when  talking  to  the  lady  at  the  cashier's 
desk;  then  his  wonder-struck  comrades  would  ex- 
claim :  "  Oh!  de  ce  Numa,  pas  moms!  "  (Oh,  that 
Numa  !  what  a  fellow  he  is  !) 

In  his  studies  he  had  the  same  easy  victory ;  he 
was  lazy  and  hated  study  and  solitude,  but  he- 
managed  to  pass  his  examination  with  no  little 
success  through  sheer  audacity  and  Southern  sly- 
ness, the  slyness  which  made  him  discover  the  weak 
spot  in  his  professor's  vanity  and  work  it  for  all  it 
was  worth.  Then  his  pleasant,  frank  expression  and 
his  amiability  were  also  in  his  favor,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  a  lucky  star  lighted  the  pathway  before  him. 

As  soon  as  he  obtained  his  lawyer's  diploma  his 
parents  sent  for  him  to  return  home,  because  the 
slender  pocket  money  which  he  cost  them  meant 
privations  they  could  no  longer  bear.  But  the 
prospect  of  burying  himself  alive  in  the  old  dead 
town  of  Aps  crumbling  to  dust  with  its  ancient 
ruins,  an  existence  composed  of  a  humdrum  round 
of  visits  and  nothing  more  exciting  than  a  few  law- 
suits over  a  parcel  of  party-walls,  held  out  no 
inducements  to  that  undefined  ambition  that  the 
southern  youth  vaguely  felt  underlying  his  love  for 
the  stir  and  intellectual  life  of  Paris. 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     27 

With  great  difficulty  he  obtained  an  extension 
of  two  years  more,  in  which  to  complete  his  stud- 
ies, and  just  as  these  two  years  had  expired  and 
the  irrevocable  summons  home  had  come,  at  the 
house  of  the  Duchesse  de  San  Donnino  he  met 
Sagnier  during  a  musical  function  to  which  he 
had  been  asked  on  account  of  his  pretty  voice  — • 
Sagnier,  the  great  Sagnier,  the  Legitimist  lawyer, 
brother  of  the  duchess  and  a  musical  monomaniac. 
Numa's  youthful  enthusiasm  appearing  in  the 
monotonous  round  of  society  and  his  craze  for 
Mozart's  music  carried  Sagnier  off  his  feet.  He 
offered  him  the  position  of  fourth  secretary  in  his 
office.  The  salary  was  merely  nominal,  but  it  was 
being  admitted  into  the  employment  of  the 
greatest  law  office  in  Paris,  having  close  relations 
with  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain  and  also  with  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies.  Unluckily  old  Roumestan 
insisted  on  cutting  off  his  allowance,  hoping  to 
force  him  to  return  when  hunger  stared  him  in  the 
face.  Was  he  not  twenty-six,  a  notary,  and  fit  to 
earn  his  own  bread?  Then  it  was  that  landlord 
Malmus  came  to  the  front. 

A  regular  type  was  this  Malmus ;  a  large,  pale- 
faced,  asthmatic  man,  who  from  being  a  mere  waiter 
had  become  the  proprietor  of  one  of  the  largest 
restaurants  in  Paris,  partly  by  having  credit,  partly 
by  usury.  It  had  been  his  custom  in  early  days  to 
advance  money  to  the  students  when  they  were 
in  need  of  it,  and  then  when  their  ships  came  in, 
allow  himself  to  be  repaid  threefold.  He  could 
hardly  read  and  could  not  write  at  all ;  his  accounts 


28  Nunia  Roumesfan, 

were  kept  by  means  of  notches  cut  in  a  piece  of 
wood,  as  he  had  seen  the  baker  boys  do  in  his 
native  town  of  Lyon ;  but  he  was  so  accurate  that 
he  never  made  a  mistake  in  his  accounts,  and,  more 
than  all,  he  never  placed  his  money  badly.  Later, 
when  he  had  become  rich  and  the  proprietor  of  the 
house  in  which  he  had  been  a  servant  for  fifteen 
years,  he  established  his  business,  and  placed  it 
entirely  upon  a  credit  basis,  an  unlimited  credit 
that  left  the  money-drawer  empty  at  the  close  of  the 
day  but  filled  his  queerly  kept  books  with  endless 
lines  of  orders  for  food  and  drink  jotted  down  with 
those  celebrated  five-nibbed  pens  which  are  held  in, 
such  sovereign  honor  in  the  world  of  Paris  trade. 

And  the  honest  fellow's  system  was  simplicity 
itself.  A  student  kept  all  his  pocket  money,  all 
his  allowance  from  home.  All  had  full  credit  for 
meals  and  drinks  and  favorites  were  even  allowed 
a  room  in  his  house.  He  did  not  ask  for  a  penny 
during  term  time,  letting  the  interest  mount  up  on 
very  high  sums.  But  he  did  not  do  this  carelessly 
or  without  circumspection.  Malmus  passed  two 
months  every  year,  his  vacation,  in  the  provinces, 
making  secret  inquiry  into  the  health  and  wealth 
of  the  families  of  his  debtors.  His  asthma  was  ter- 
rible as  he  mounted  the  peaks  of  the  C^vennes  and 
descended  the  low  ranges  of  Languedoc.  He  was 
to  be  seen,  gouty  and  mysterious,  prowling  about 
among  forgotten  villages,  with  suspicious  eyes 
lowering  under  the  heavy  lids  that  are  peculiar  to 
waiters  in  all-night  restaurants.  He  would  remain 
a  few  days  in  each  place,  interview  the  notary  and 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     29 

the  sheriff,  inspect  secretly  the  farm  or  factory  of 
his  debtor's  father,  and  then  nothing  was  heard  of 
him  more. 

What  he  learned  at  Aps  gave  him  full  confi- 
dence in  Numa,  The  latter's  father,  formerly  a 
weaver,  had  ruined  himself  with  inventions  and 
speculations  and  lived  now  in  modest  circum- 
stances as  an  insurance  agent,  but  his  aunt, 
Mme.  Portal,  the  childless  widow  of  a  rich  town 
councillor,  would  doubtless  leave  all  her  prop- 
erty to  her  nephew ;  so,  naturally,  Malmus  wished 
Numa  to  remain  in  Paris. 

**  Go  into  Sagnier's  office;  I  will  help  you." 
As  a  secretary  of  a  man  in  Sagnier's  position  he 
could  not  live  in  the  Quartier  Latin,  so  Malmus 
furnished  a  set  of  bachelor  chambers  for  him  on  the 
Quai  Voltaire,  on  the  courts,  paying  the  rent  and 
giving  him  his  allowance  on  credit.  Thus  did  the 
future  leader  face  his  destiny,  everything  on  the 
surface  seemingly  easy  and  comfortable,  but  in 
reality  in  the  direst  need ;  lacking  pin  and  pocket 
money.  The  friendship  of  Sagnier  helped  him  to 
fine  acquaintances.  The  Faubourg  welcomed  him. 
But  this  social  success,  the  invitations  in  Paris  and 
to  country  houses  in  summer,  where  he  had  to 
arrive  in  perfect  fashionable  outfit,  only  added  to 
his  expense.  After  repeated  prayers  his  Aunt 
Portal  helped  him  a  little,  but  with  great  caution 
and  stinginess,  always  accompanying  her  gifts 
with  long  flighty  stupidities  and  Bible  denuncia- 
tions against  "  that  ruinous  Paris."  The  situation 
was  untenable. 


^o  Numa  RoumestaM, 

At  the  end  of  a  year  he  looked  for  other  em- 
ployment. Besides,  Sagnier  required  pioneers, 
regular  navvies  for  hard  work,  and  Roumestan 
was  not  that  sort  of  man.  The  Provencal's  indo- 
lence was  ineradicable,  and  above  all  things  he  had 
a  loathing  for  office  work  or  any  hard  and  continu- 
ous labor.  The  faculty  of  attention,  which  is  noth- 
ing if  not  deep,  was  absolutely  wanting  to  this 
volatile  Southerner.  That  was  because  his  imagin- 
ation was  too  vivid,  his  ideas  too  jumbled-up 
beneath  his  dark  brows,  his  mind  too  fickle,  as 
even  his  writing  showed ;  it  was  never  twice  the 
same.  He  was  all  on  the  surface,  all  voice,  ges-' 
tures,  like  a  tenor  at  the  opera. 

**  When  I  am  not  speaking  I  cannot  think,"  he 
said  naively,  and  it  was  true.  Words  with  him 
never  rushed  forth  propelled  by  the  force  of  his 
thought;  on  the  contrary,  at  the  mechanical 
sound  of  his  own  words  the  thoughts  formed 
themselves  in  advance.  He  was  astonished  and 
amused  at  chance  meetings  of  words  and  ideas  in 
his  mind  which  had  been  lost  in  some  corner  of  his 
memory,  thoughts  which  speech  would  discover, 
pick  up  and  marshal  into  arguments.  Whilst  he 
held  forth  he  would  suddenly  discover  emotions  of 
which  he  had  been  unconscious;  the  vibrations  of 
his  own  voice  moved  him  to  such  a  degree  that  there 
were  certain  intonations  which  touched  his  heart 
and  affected  him  to  tears.  These  were  the  qualities 
of  an  orator,  to  be  sure,  but  he  did  not  recognize 
them,  as  his  duties  at  Sagnier's  had  hardly  been 
such  as  to  give  him  a  chance  to  practise  them. 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     31 

Nevertheless,  the  year  spent  with  the  great  Le- 
gitimist lawyer  had  a  decisive  effect  upon  his  after 
life.  He  acquired  convictions  and  a  political  party, 
the  taste  for  politics  and  a  longing  for  fortune  and 
glory. 

Glory  came  to  him  first. 

A  few  months  after  he  left  his  master,  that  title 
of  ''  Secretary  to  Sagnier,"  which  he  clung  to  as  an 
actor  who  has  appeared  once  on  the  boards  of 
the  Comedie  Francaise  forever  calls  himself"  of  the 
Comedie  Francaise,"  was  the  means  of  getting 
him  his  first  case,  the  defence  of  a  little  Legitimist 
newspaper  called  "  The  Ferret,"  much  patronized 
in  the  best  society.  His  defence  was  cleverly  and 
brilliantly  made.  Coming  into  court  without  the 
slightest  preparation,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  he 
talked  for  two  hours  with  such  an  insolent  *'  go  " 
to  him,  and  so  much  good-natured  sarcasm,  that 
the  judges  were  forced  to  listen  to  him  to  the  end. 
His  dreadful  southern  accent,  with  its  rolling  "  r's," 
which  he  had  always  been  too  indolent  to  correct, 
seemed  to  make  his  irony  only  bite  the  deeper. 
It  had  a  power  of  its  own,  this  eloquence  with  its 
very  Southern  swing,  theatrical  and  yet  familiar, 
but  above  all  lucid  and  full  of  that  broad  light 
which  is  found  in  the  works  of  people  down  South,, 
as  in  their  landscapes,  limpid  to  their  remotest 
parts. 

Of  course  the  paper  was  non-suited ;  Numa's 
success  was  paid  for  by  costs  and  imprisonment. 
So  from  the  ashes  of  many  a  play  that  has  ruined 
manager  and  author  one  actor  may  snatch  a  repu- 


32  Numa  Roumestan, 

tation.  Old  Sagnier,  who  had  come  to  hear  Numa 
plead,  embraced  his  pupil  before  the  assembled 
crowd.  "  Count  yourself  from  this  day  on  a  great 
man,  my  dear  Numa !  "  said  he,  and  seemed  sur- 
prised that  he  had  hatched  such  a  falcon's  egg. 
But  the  most  surprised  man  was  Numa  himself,  as 
with  the  echo  of  his  own  words  still  sounding  in  his 
ears  he  descended  the  broad  railless  staircase  of  the 
Palais  de  Justice,  quite  stunned,  as  if  in  a  dream. 

After  this  success  and  this  ovation,  after  showers 
of  eulogistic  letters  and  the  jaundiced  smiles  of  his 
brethren,  the  coming  lawyer  naturally  felt  he  was 
indeed  launched  upon  a  triumphal  career.  He  sat 
patiently  waiting  in  his  office  looking  out  on  the 
courtyard,  before  his  scanty  little  fire;  but  nothing 
came  save  a  few  more  invitations  to  dinner,  and  a 
pretty  bronze  from  the  foundry  of  Barb^dienne, 
a  donation  from  the  staff  of  Lc  Ftwct. 

The  new  great  man  found  himself  still  facing  the 
same  difficulties,  the  same  uncertain  future.  Oh! 
these  professions  called  liberal,  which  cannot  de- 
coy and  entrap  their  clients,  how  hard  are  their 
beginnings,  before  serious  and  paying  customers 
come  to  sit  in  rows  in  their  little  rooms  furnished 
on  credit  with  dilapidated  furniture  and  the  sym- 
bolical clock  on  the  chimney-piece  flanked  by 
tottering  candelabra  !  Numa  was  driven  to  giving 
lessons  in  law  among  his  Catholic  and  Legitimist 
acquaintances;  but  he  considered  work  like  this 
beneath  the  dignity  of  the  man  whose  name  had 
been  so  covered  with  glory  by  the  party  news- 
papers. 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man.     2i7) 

What  mortified  him  most  of  all  and  made  him 
feel  his  wretched  plight  was  to  be  obliged  to  go 
and  dine  at  Malmus's  when  he  had  no  invitation 
elsewhere,  and  no  money  for  a  dinner  at  a  fashiona- 
ble restaurant  Nothing  had  changed  at  Malmus's ; 
the  same  cashier's  lady  was  enthroned  among  the 
punch-bowls  as  of  old;  the  same  pottery  stove 
rumbled  away  near  the  old  pipe-rack;  the  same 
shouts  and  accents,  the  same  black  beards  from 
every  section  of  the  South  prevailed ;  but  his  gen- 
eration had  passed,  and  he  looked  on  the  new 
generation  with  the  disfavor  which  a  man  at  matu- 
rity, but  without  a  position,  feels  for  the  youths  who 
make  him  seem  old. 

How  could  he  have  existed  in  so  brainless  a  set? 
Surely  the  students  of  his  day  could  not  have  been 
such  fools  !  Even  their  admiration,  their  fawning 
round  him  like  a  lot  of  good-natured  dogs,  was 
insupportable  to  him. 

While  he  ate,  Malmus,  proud  of  his  guest,  came 
and  sat  on  the  little  red  sofa  which  shook  under 
his  fits  of  asthma,  and  talked  to  him,  while  at  a 
table  near  by  a  tall,  thin  woman  took  her  place,  the 
only  relic  of  the  old  days  left  —  a  bony  creature 
destitute  of  age  known  in  the  quarter  as  *'  every- 
one's old  girl."  Some  kind-hearted  student  now 
married  and  settled  far  away  had  opened  a  credit 
for  her  at  Malmus's  before  he  went.  Confined  for 
so  many  years  to  this  one  pasture,  the  poor  crea- 
ture knew  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
outside  world ;  she  had  not  even  heard  of  Numa's 
triumph,  and  spoke  to  him   pityingly  as  to  one 

3 


34 


Numa  Roumestan, 


whom  fortune  had  passed  by,  and  in  the  same  rank 
and  category  as  herself. 

"  Wall,  poor  old  chum,  how  are  things  a-getting 
on?  You  know  Pompon  is  married,  and  Laboul- 
bene  has  passed  his  deputy  at  Caen." 

Roumestan  hardly  answered  a  word,  hurried 
through  his  dinner  and  rushed  away  through  the 
streets,  noisy  with  many  beershops  and  fruit  stalls, 
feeling  the  bitterness  of  a  life  of  failure  and  a  gen- 
eral impression  of  bankruptcy. 

Several  years  passed  thus,  during  which  his 
name  became  better  known  and  more  firmly  estab- 
lished, but  with  little  profit  to  himself,  except  for 
an  occasional  gift  of  a  copy  of  some  statuette  in 
Barb^dienne  bronze.  Then  he  was  called  upon  to 
defend  a  manufacturer  of  Avignon,  who  had  made 
seditious  silk  handkerchiefs.  There  was  some  sort 
of  a  deputation  pictured  on  them  standing  about 
the  Comte  de  Chambord,  but  very  confusedly 
done  in  the  printing,  only  with  great  imprudence 
he  had  allowed  the  initials  "  H.  V."  (Henry  Fifth) 
to  be  left,  surrounded  by  a  coat  of  arms. 

Here  was  Numa's  chance  for  a  good  bit  of  com- 
edy. He  thundered  against  the  stupidity  that 
could  see  the  slightest  political  allusion  in  that 
H.  V. !  Why,  that  meant  Horace  Vernet  —  there 
he  was,  presiding  over  a  meeting  of  the  French 
Institute ! 

This  "  tarasconade "  had  a  great  local  success 
that  did  him  more  service  than  any  advertisement 
won  in  Paris  could ;  above  all,  it  gained  him  the 
active  approbation  of  his  Aunt  Portal.      At  first 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     35 

this  was  expressed  by  presents  of  olive  oil  and 
white  melons,  followed  by  a  lot  of  other  articles  of 
food  —  figs,  peppers,  potted  ducks  from  Aix,  ca- 
viar from  Martigues,  jujubes,  elderberry  jam  and 
St.  John's-bread,  a  lot  of  boyish  goodies  of  which 
the  old  lady  herself  was  very  fond,  but  which  her 
nephew  threw  into  a  cupboard  to  spoil. 

Shortly  after  arrived  a  letter,  written  with  a  quill 
in  a  large  handwriting,  which  displayed  the  brusque 
accents  and  absurd  phrases  customary  with  his 
aunt,  and  betrayed  her  puzzle-headed  mind  by  its 
absolute  freedom  from  punctuation  and  by  the 
lively  way  in  which  she  jumped  from  one  subject 
to  the  other. 

Still,  Numa  was  able  to  discover  the  fact  that 
the  good  woman  desired  to  marry  him  off  to  the 
daughter  of  a  Councillor  in  the  Court  of  Appeals 
in  Paris,  one  M.  Le  Quesnoy,  whose  wife,  a  Mile. 
Soustelle  from  Aps,  had  gone  to  school  with  her 
at  the  Convent  of  la  Calade  —  big  fortune  —  the 
girl  handsome,  good  morals,  somewhat  cool  and 
haughty  —  but  marriage  would  soon  warm  that  up. 
And  if  the  marriage  took  place,  what  would  his  old 
Aunt  Portal  give  her  Numa?  One  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  in  good  cHnking  tin  —  on  the  day  of 
the  wedding ! 

Under  its  provincialisms  the  letter  contained  a 
serious  proposition,  so  serious  indeed  that  the 
next  day  but  one  Numa  received  an  invitation  to 
dine  with  the  Le  Quesnoys.  He  accepted,  though 
with  some  trepidation. 

The  Councillor,  whom  he  had  often  seen  at  the 


36  Numa  Roumestan, 

Palais  de  Justice,  was  one  of  those  men  who  had 
always  impressed  him  most.  Tall,  slender,  with  a 
haughty  face  and  a  mortal  paleness,  sharp,  search- 
ing eyes,  a  thin-lipped,  tightly-closed  mouth — the 
old  magistrate,  who  originally  came  from  Valen- 
ciennes, seemed  like  that  town  to  be  surrounded  by 
an  impregnable  wall  and  fortified  by  Vauban.  His 
cool  Northern  manner  was  most  disconcerting  to 
Numa.  His  high  position,  gained  by  his  exhaus- 
tive study  of  the  Penal  Code,  his  wealth  and  his 
spotless  life  would  have  given  him  a  yet  higher 
position  had  it  not  been  for  the  Independence  of 
his  views  and  a  morose  withdrawal  from  the  world 
and  its  gayeties  ever  since  the  death  of  his  only 
son,  a  lad  of  twenty.  All  these  circumstances 
passed  before  Numa's  mental  vision  as  he  mounted 
the  broad  stone  steps  with  their  carved  hand-rail 
of  the  Le  Quesnoy  residence,  one  of  the  oldest 
houses  on  the  Place  Royale. 

The  great  drawing-room  Into  which  he  was 
shown,  with  its  lofty  celling  reaching  down  to  the 
doors  to  meet  the  delicate  paintings  of  its  piers,  the 
straight  hangings  with  stripes  In  brown  and  gold- 
colored  Chinese  silk  framing  the  long  windows 
that  opened  upon  an  antique  balcony,  and  also  on 
one  of  the  rose-colored  corners  of  brick  build- 
ings on  the  square —  all  this  was  not  calculated  to 
change  his  first  Impressions. 

But  the  welcome  given  him  by  Mme.  Le  Ques- 
noy soon  put  him  at  his  ease. 

This  fragile  little  woman  with  her  sad  sweet 
smile,  wrapped  in  many  shawls  and   crippled  by 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     2>7 

rheumatism,  from  which  she  had  suffered  ever  since 
she  came  to  Hve  in  Paris,  still  preserved  the  accent 
and  habits  of  her  dear  South,  and  she  loved  any- 
thing that  reminded  her  of  it.  She  invited  Numa 
to  sit  down  by  her  side,  and  looking  affectionately 
at  him  in  the  dim  light,  she  murmured :  *'  The 
very  picture  of  Evelina !  "  This  pet  name  of  his 
aunt,  so  long  unheard  by  him,  touched  his  quick 
sensibility  like  an  echo  of  his  childhood.  It  ap- 
peared that  Mme.  Le  Quesnoy  had  long  wished 
to  know  the  nephew  of  her  old  friend,  but  her 
house  had  been  so  mournful  since  her  son's  death, 
and  they  had  been  so  entirely  out  of  the  world,  that 
she  had  never  sought  him  out.  Now  they  had 
decided  to  entertain  a  little,  not  because  their 
sorrow  was  less  keen,  but  on  account  of  their  two 
daughters,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  almost  twenty 
years  old;  and  turning  toward  the  balcony  whence 
they  could  hear  peals  of  girlish  laughter,  she 
called,  ''  Rosalie,  Hortense,  come  in  —  here  is 
Monsieur  Roumestan !  " 

Ten  years  after  that  visit  Numa  remembered  the 
calm  and  smiling  picture  that  appeared,  framed 
by  the  long  window  in  the  tender  light  of  the  sun- 
set, of  that  beautiful  young  girl,  and  the  absence 
of  all  affected  embarrassment  as  she  came  towards 
him,  smoothing  the  bands  of  her  hair  that  her 
little  sister's  play  had  ruffled  —  her  clear  eyes  and 
direct  gaze. 

He  felt  an  instant  confidence  in  and  sympathy 
with  her. 

Once  or  twice  during  dinner,  nevertheless,  when 


38  Numa  Roumesian, 

he  was  in  the  full  flow  of  animated  conversation  he 
was  conscious  that  a  ripple  as  of  disdain  passed 
over  the  clear-cut  profile  and  pure  complexion 
of  the  face  beside  him  —  without  question  that 
"cool  and  haughty"  air  which  Aunt  Portal  had 
mentioned,  and  which  Rosahe  got  through  her 
striking  resemblance  to  her  father.  But  the  little 
grimace  of  her  pretty  mouth  and  the  cold  blue 
of  her  look  softened  quickly  to  a  kindly  attention, 
and  she  was  again  under  the  charm  of  a  surprise 
she  did  not  try  to  conceal.  Born  and  brought  up 
in  Paris,  Rosalie  had  always  felt  a  fixed  aversion 
to  the  South;  its  accent,  its  manners,  even  the 
country  itself  as  she  saw  it  in  the  vacations  she 
occasionally  spent  at  Aps  —  everything  was  anti- 
pathetic to  her.  It  seemed  to  be  an  instinct  of 
race,  and  was  the  cause  of  many  gentle  disputes 
with  her  mother. 

"  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  marry  a  Souther- 
ner," Rosalie  had  laughingly  declared,  and  she 
arranged  in  her  own  mind  a  type  —  a  coarse, 
noisy,  vacant  fellow,  combining  an  opera  tenor  and 
a  drummer  for  Bordeaux  wines,  but  with  a  fine 
head  and  well-cut  features.  Roumestan  came 
pretty  near  to  this  clear-cut  vision  of  the  mocking 
little  Parisian,  but  his  ardent  musical  speech,  taking 
on  that  evening  an  irresistible  force  by  reason  of 
the  sympathy  of  those  around  him,  inspired  and 
aroused  him,  seeming  even  to  make  his  face  more 
refined.  After  the  usual  talk  in  low  voices  between 
neighbors  at  the  table,  those  hors-d' ceuvres  of  con- 
versation that  circulate  with  caviar  and  anchovy, 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Grtat  Man,     39 

the  Emperor's  hunting  parties  at  Compiegne  be- 
came the  general  topic  of  conversation;  those 
hunts  in  costume  at  which  the  invited  guests  ap- 
peared as  grandees  and  grand  ladies  of  the  Court 
of  Louis  XV.  Knowing  M.  Le  Quesnoy  to  be 
a  Liberal,  Numa  launched  forth  into  a  magnifi- 
cent diatribe,  almost  a  prophetic  one.  He  drew 
a  picture  of  the  Court  as  a  set  of  circus  riders, 
women  performers,  grooms  and  jockeys  riding 
hard  under  a  threatening  sky,  pursuing  the  stag  to 
its  death  to  the  accompaniment  of  lightning-flash 
and  distant  claps  of  thunder,  and  then  —  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  revelry  —  the  deluge,  the  hunting 
horns  drowned,  all  this  monarchical  harlequinade 
ending  in  a  morass  of  blood  and  mire ! 

Perhaps  this  piece  was  not  entirely  impromptu ; 
probably  he  had  got  it  off  before  at  the  committee 
meeting;  but  never  before  had  his  brilliant  speech 
and  tone  of  candor  in  revolt  roused  anywhere  such 
enthusiasm  and  sympathy  as  he  suddenly  saw  re- 
flected in  one  sweet,  serious  countenance,  that  he 
felt  turning  toward  him,  while  the  gentle  face  of 
Mme.  Le  Quesnoy  lit  up  with  a  ray  of  fun  and 
seemed  to  ask  her  daughter :  "  Well,  how  do  you 
like  my  Southerner  now?" 

Rosalie  was  captivated.  Deep  in  her  inmost 
heart  she  bowed  to  the  power  of  that  voice  and  to 
generous  thoughts  that  accorded  so  well  with 
all  her  youthful  enthusiasms,  her  passion  for  liberty 
and  justice.  As  women  at  a  play  will  confound 
the  singer  with  his  song,  the  actor  with  his  role,  so 
she    forgot   to    make    allowances    for   the    artist's 


40  Numa  Roumestan. 

imagination.  Oh,  if  she  could  but  have  known 
what  an  abyss  of  nothing  lay  below  these  profes- 
sional phrases,  how  little  he  troubled  himself  about 
the  hunting-parties  at  Compiegne !  She  did  not 
know  that  he  merely  needed  an  invitation  with  the 
imperial  crest  on  it,  and  he  would  have  joined  these 
self-same  parties,  in  which  his  vanity,  his  tastes  as 
actor  and  pleasure-seeker,  would  have  found  com- 
plete satisfaction.  But  she  was  under  the  charm. 
As  he  talked,  it  seemed  to  her  the  table  grew  larger, 
the  dull,  sleepy  faces  of  the  few  guests,  a  certain 
President  of  the  Chamber  and  an  old  physician, 
were  transfigured ;  and  when  they  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  the  chandelier,  lighted  for  the  first 
time  since  her  brother's  death,  had  almost  the 
dazzling  effect  upon  her  of  the  sun  itself. 

The  sun  was  Roumestan. 

He  woke  up  the  majestic  old  house,  drove  away 
mourning  and  the  gloom  that  was  piled  in  all 
the  corners,  the  particles  of  sadness  that  accumu- 
late in  old  dwellings;  he  seemed  to  make  the 
facets  of  the  mirrors  glisten  and  give  new  life  to 
the  delightful  panel  paintings  on  the  walls,  which 
had  been  scarce  visible  for  a  hundred  years. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  painting.  Monsieur?" 

•'  Fond  of  it,  Mademoiselle?  Oh,  I  should  think 
so !  " 

The  truth  was  that  he  knew  absolutely  nothing 
about  it,  but  he  had  a  stock  of  words  and  phrases 
ready  for  use  on  that  subject  as  on  all  others,  and 
while  the  servants  were  arranging  the  card  tables 
he  made  the  paintings  on  the  well-preserved  Louis 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Mait,     41 

XIII  walls  the  pretext  for  a  quiet  talk  very  near  to 
the  young  girl. 

Of  the  two,  Rosalie  knew  much  the  more  about 
art.  Having  lived  always  in  an  atmosphere  of  culti- 
vation and  good  taste,  the  sight  of  a  fine  bit  of 
sculpture  or  a  great  painting  thrilled  her  with  a 
special  vibratory  emotion  which  she  felt  rather 
than  expressed,  because  of  her  reserved  character 
and  because  the  false  emotions  in  the  world  are 
apt  to  keep  down  the  real  ones.  At  sight  of 
them  a  superficial  observer,  however,  noting  the 
eloquent  assurance  with  which  the  lawyer  talked 
and  the  wide  professional  gestures  he  used,  as  well 
as  the  rapt  attention  of  Rosalie,  might  have  taken 
him  for  some  great  master  giving  a  lesson  to  a 
pupil. 

''Mamma,  can  we  go  into  your  room?  I  want 
to  show  Monsieur  Roumestan  the  hunting  panel." 

At  the  whist  table  Mme.  Le  Quesnoy  gave  a 
quick  inquiring  glance  at  him  whom  she  always 
called,  with  a  peculiar  tone  of  renunciation  and 
humility  in  her  voice,  "  Monsieur  Le  Quesnoy," 
and,  receiving  an  affirmative  nod  from  him  which 
meant  that  the  thing  was  in  order,  gave  the  desired 
permission. 

They  crossed  a  passage  lined  with  books  and 
found  themselves  in  the  old  people's  chamber,  an 
immense  room  as  majestic  and  antique  as  the  draw- 
ing-room. The  panel  was  above  a  small  door 
beautifully  curved. 

"  It  is  too  dark  to  see  it  well,"  said  Rosalie. 

As  she  spoke  she  held  up  a  double  candlestick 


42  Numa  Roumestan, 

she  had  taken  from  a  card  table,  and  with  her  arm 
raised,  her  graceful  figure  in  fine  relief,  she  threw 
the  light  upon  the  picture  which  showed  Diana, 
the  crescent  on  her  brow,  among  her  huntress 
maidens  in  the  landscape  of  a  pagan  Paradise.  But 
at  this  gesture  of  a  Greek  torch-bearer  the  light 
from  the  double  candles  fell  upon  her  own  head  with 
its  simple  coifTure  and  sparkled  in  her  clear  eyes 
with  their  high-bred  smile  and  on  the  virginal 
curves  of  her  slender  yet  stately  bust.  She  seemed 
more  of  a  Diana  than  the  pictured  goddess  herself. 
Roumestan  looked  at  her;  carried  away  by  her 
charm  of  youthful  innocence  and  candid  chastity, 
he  forgot  who  she  was  and  what  his  purpose  had 
been  in  coming,  yes,  all  his  dreams  of  fortune  and 
ambition!  He  felt  an  insane  desire  to  clasp  this 
supple  form  in  his  arms,  to  shower  kisses  on  her 
fine  hair,  the  delicate  fragrance  of  which  intoxicated 
him,  to  carry  ofif  this  enchanting  being  to  be  the 
safeguard  and  joy  of  his  whole  life ;  and  something 
told  him  that  if  he  attempted  it  she  would  permit 
it,  and  that  she  was  his,  his  entirely,  conquered, 
vanquished  at  the  first  sight. 

Fire  and  wind  of  the  South,  you  are  irresistible  ! 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     43 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  SEAMY  SIDE  OF  A  GREAT  MAN  (^continued). 

If  ever  people  were  unsuited  for  life  side  by 
side  it  was  these  two.  Opposites  by  instinct,  by 
education  and  temperament,  thinking  alike  on  no 
one  subject,  they  were  the  North  and  the  South 
face  to  face  without  the  slightest  chance  of  fusion. 
Love  feeds  on  contrasts  like  this  and  laughs  when 
they  are  pointed  out,  so  powerful  does  it  feel 
itself.  But  later,  when  everyday  life  sets  in,  dur- 
ing the  monotony  of  days  and  nights  passed 
beneath  the  same  roof,  that  mist  which  constitutes 
love  disappears ;  the  veil  is  lifted ;  they  begin  to 
see  each  other,  and,  what  is  worse,  to  judge  each 
other ! 

It  was  some  time  before  the  awakening  came 
to  these  young  people  ;  at  least  with  Rosalie  the 
illusion  lasted.  Clear-sighted  and  clever  on  all 
other  subjects,  for  a  long  while  she  remained  blind 
to  Numa's  faults  and  could  not  see  how  far  in  many 
ways  she  was  his  superior.  It  had  not  taken  him 
long  to  relapse  into  his  old  self  again.  Passioft 
in  the  South  is  short-lived  because  of  its  very 
violence.  And  then  the  Southerner  is  so  perfectly 
assured  of  the  inferiority  of  women  that,  once 
married  and  sure  of  his  happiness,  he  installs  him- 


44  Numa  Roumestan. 

self  like  a  bashaw  in"  his  home,  receiving  love  as 
homage  due  and  not  of  much  importance;  for, 
after  all,  it  takes  up  a  good  deal  of  time  to  be 
loved,  and  Numa  was  much  preoccupied  just  then 
arranging  the  new  life  which  his  marriage,  his 
wealth  and  the  high  position  in  the  law  courts 
as  son-in-law  to  M.  Le  Ouesnoy  necessitated. 

The  one  hundred  thousand  francs  given  him  by- 
Aunt  Portal  sufficed  to  pay  his  debts  to  Malmus  and 
the  furnisher  and  to  wipe  out  forever  the  dreary 
record  of  his  straitened  bachelor  days.  It  was  a 
delightful  change  from  the  humble /nV////  (lunch) 
at  Malmus's  on  the  old  sofa  with  its  worn  red  vel-- 
vet,  in  company  of  '*  every  one's  old  girl,"  to  the 
dining-room  in  his  new  house  in  the  Rue  Scribe 
where,  opposite  his  dainty  little  Parisian  wife,  he 
presided  over  the  sumptuous  dinners  that  he  offered 
to  the  magnates  of  the  law  and  of  music. 

The  Provencal  loved  a  life  of  eating,  luxury  and 
display,  but  he  liked  it  best  in  his  own  house,  with- 
out any  trouble  or  ceremony,  where  a  certain 
looseness  was  possible  over  a  cigar  and  risky 
stories  might  be  told.  Rosalie  resigned  herself  to 
keeping  open  house,  the  table  always  set,  ten  or 
fifteen  guests  every  evening,  and  never  anybody 
but  men,  among  whose  black  coats  her  evening 
dress  made  the  only  point  of  color.  There  she 
stayed  until  with  the  serving  of  the  coffee  and  the 
opening  of  cigar  boxes  she  would  slip  away,  leav- 
ing them  to  their  politics  and  the  coarse  roars  of 
laughter  that  accompany  the  close  of  bachelor 
dinners. 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man.     45 

Only  the  mistress  of  a  house  knows  what 
domestic  complications  arise  when  such  constant 
and  unusual  services  are  required  every  day  of  the 
servants.  Rosalie  struggled  uncomplainingly  with 
this  problem  and  tried  to  bring  some  order  out  of 
chaos,  carried  away  as  she  was  by  the  whirlwind 
of  her  terrible  genius  of  a  husband,  who  did  not 
spare  her  the  turbulence  of  his  own  nature,  yet 
between  two  storms  had  a  smile  of  approbation  for 
his  little  wife.  Her  only  regret  was  that  she  never 
had  him  enough  to  herself.  Even  at  breakfast, 
that  hasty  morning's  meal  for  a  busy  lawyer,  there 
was  always  a  guest  between  them,  namely  that 
male  comrade  without  whom  the  man  of  the  South 
could  not  exist,  that  inevitable  some  one  to  answer 
a  bright  remark  and  call  forth  a  flash  from  his  own 
wits,  the  arm  on  which  condescendingly  to  lean, 
some  henchman  to  catch  his  handkerchief  as  he 
sallied  forth  to  the  Palace  of  Justice! 

Ah,  how  she  longed  to  accompany  him  across 
the  Seine,  how  glad  she  would  have  been  to  call 
for  him  on  rainy  days,  wait,  and  bring  him  home  in 
her  carriage,  nestled  up  to  him  behind  the  windows 
blurred  with  raindrops !  She  did  not  dare  to 
suggest  such  things  any  more,  so  sure  was  she  of 
some  excuse,  an  appointment  in  the  Lawyers'  Hall 
with  some  one  of  three  hundred  intimate  friends 
of  whom  the  Provencal  would  say  with  deep 
emotion  : 

"  He  adores  me  !  He  would  go  through  fire  and 
water  for  me  !  " 

That  was  his  idea  of  friendship.     But  in  other 


46  Numa  Roumestan. 

respects,  no  selection  whatever  as  to  his  friends ! 
His  easy  good-nature  and  Hvely  capriciousness 
caused  him  to  throw  himself  into  the  arms  of 
each  man  he  met,  but  made  him  as  easily  drop 
him.  Every  week  there  was  a  new  craze  for  some- 
one whose  name  came  up  incessantly,  a  name 
which  Rosalie  wrote  down  conscientiously  on  the 
little  menu  card,  but  which  presently  disappeared 
as  suddenly  as  if  the  new  favorite's  personality  had 
been  as  flimsy  and  as  easily  burned  as  the  little 
colored  card  itself. 

Among  these  birds  of  passage  one  alone  re- 
mained stationary,  more  from  force  of  childish' 
habit  than  from  anything  else,  for  Bompard  and 
Roumestan  were  born  in  the  same  street  at  Aps. 
Bompard  was  an  institution  in  the  house,  found 
there  in  a  place  of  honor  when  the  bride  came 
home.  He  was  a  cadaverous  creature  with  Don 
Quixote's  head  and  a  big  eagle's  nose  and  eyes  like 
balls  of  agate  set  in  a  pitted,  saffron-colored  com- 
plexion that  looked  like  Cordova  leather;  it  was 
lined  and  seamed  with  the  wrinkles  one  sees  only 
in  the  faces  of  clowns  and  jesters  which  are  forced 
constantly  into  contortions. 

Bompard  had  never  been  a  comedian,  however. 
Numa  had  found  him  again  in  the  chorus  of  the 
opera  where  he  had  sung  for  a  short  time.  Be- 
yond this,  it  was  impossible  to  say  what  was  real 
in  the  shifting  sands  of  that  career.  He  had  been 
everywhere,  seen  everything  and  practised  all 
trades.  No  great  man  or  great  event  could  be 
mentioned  without  his  saying :  •'  He  is  a  friend  of 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     47 

mine,"  or  "  I  was  present  at  the  time,"  and  then 
would  follow  a  long  story  to  prove  his  assertion. 

In  piecing  together  these  fragments  of  his  his- 
tory most  astonishing  chronological  conclusions 
were  arrived  at ;  thus,  at  the  same  date  Bompard 
led  a  company  of  Polish  and  Caucasian  deserters 
at  the  siege  of  Sebastopol  and  was  choir-master  to 
the  King  of  Holland  and  very  close  to  the  king's 
sister,  for  which  latter  indiscretion  he  was  impris- 
oned for  six  months  in  the  fortress  at  The 
Hague  —  which  did  not  prevent  him  at  the  same 
time  from  making  a  forced  march  from  Laghouat 
to  Gadames  through  the  great  African  desert. 

He  told  these  wonderful  tales  with  rare  gestures, 
in  a  solemn  tone,  using  a  strong  Southern  accent, 
but  with  a  continual  twitching  and  contortion  of 
his  features  as  trying  to  the  eyes  as  the  shifting  of 
the  bits  of  glass  in  a  kaleidoscope. 

The  present  life  of  Bompard  was  as  mysterious 
as  his  past.  How  and  where  did  he  live?  And 
on  what?  He  was  forever  talking  of  wonderful 
schemes  for  making  money,  such  as  a  new  and 
cheap  manner  of  asphalting  one  corner  of  Paris,  or, 
all  of  a  sudden,  he  was  deep  in  the  discovery  of  an 
infallible  remedy  for  the  phylloxera  and  was  only 
waiting  for  a  letter  from  the  Minister  to  receive  the 
prize  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs  in  order  to  be 
in  funds  to  pay  his  bill  at  the  little  dairy  where  he 
took  his  meals,  whose  managers  he  had  almost 
driven  insane  with  his  false  hopes  and  extravagant 
dreams. 

This  crazy  Southerner  was  Roumestan's  delight, 


48  Numa  Roumesfan, 

He  took  him  about,  making  a  butt  of  him,  egging 
him  on,  warming  him  up  and  exciting  his  folly.  If 
Numa  stopped  in  the  street  to  speak  to  any  one, 
Bompard  stepped  aside  with  a  dignified  air  as  if 
about  to  light  a  cigar.  At  funerals  or  first  nights  he 
was  always  turning  up  to  ask  every  one  in  the  most 
impressive  haste :  *'  Have  you  seen  Roumestan 
anywhere?"  He  came  to  be  as  well  known  as 
Numa  himself.  This  type  of  parasite  is  not  uncom- 
mon in  Paris;  each  great  man  has  a  Bompard 
dragging  at  his  heels,  who  walks  on  in  his  shadow 
and  comes  to  have  a  kind  of  personality  reflected 
from  that  of  his  patron.  It  was  a  mere  chance- 
that  Roumestan's  Bompard  really  had  a  personal- 
ity of  his  own,  not  a  reflection  of  his  master. 
Rosalie  detested  this  intruder  on  her  happiness, 
always  between  her  and  her  husband,  appropri- 
ating to  himself  the  few  precious  moments  that 
might  have  been  hers  alone.  The  two  old  friends 
always  talked  a  patois  that  seemed  to  set  her 
apart  and  laughed  uproariously  at  untranslatable 
local  jokes.  What  she  particularly  disliked  about 
him  was  the  necessity  he  was  under  of  telling  lies. 
At  first  she  had  believed  these  inventions,  so  un- 
suspicious was  her  true  and  candid  nature,  whose 
greatest  charm  was  its  harmony  in  word  and 
thought,  a  combination  that  was  audible  in  the 
crystalline  clearness  and  steadiness  of  her  musical 
voice. 

*'  I  do  not  like  him  — he  tells  lies,"  she  said  in 
deep  disgust  to  Roumestan,  who  only  laughed. 
To  defend  his  friend,  he  said : 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     49 

**  No,  he  's  not  a  liar ;  he  's  only  gifted  with  a 
vivid  imagination.  He  is  a  sleeper  awake  who 
talks  out  his  dreams.  My  country  is  full  of  just 
such  people.  It  is  the  efifect  of  the  sun  and  the 
accent.  There  is  my  Aunt  Portal  —  and  even  I 
myself — if  I  did  not  have  myself  well  in  hand  —  " 

She  placed  her  little  hand  over  his  mouth : 

*'  Hush,  hush !  I  could  not  love  you  if  you 
came  from  that  side  of  Provence !  " 

The  sad  fact  was  that  he  did  come  from  that 
very  countryside.  His  assumed  Paris  manners 
and  the  veneer  of  society  restrained  him  somewhat, 
but  she  was  soon  to  see  that  terrible  South  appear 
in  him  after  all,  commonplace,  brutal,  illogical. 
The  first  time  that  she  realized  it  was  in  regard 
to  religion,  about  which,  as  about  everything  else, 
Numa  was  entirely  in  line  with  the  traditions  of 
his  province. 

Numa  was  the  Provencal  Roman  Catholic  who 
never  goes  to  communion,  never  confesses  himself 
except  in  cholera  times,  never  goes  to  church 
except  to  bring  his  wife  home  after  mass,  and  then 
stands  in  the  vestibule  near  the  holy-water  basin 
with  the  superior  air  of  a  father  who  has  taken  his 
children  to  a  show  of  Chinese  shadows  — ■  yet  a 
man  who  would  let  himself  be  drawn  and  quar- 
tered in  defence  of  a  faith  he  does  not  feel,  which 
in  no  way  controls  his  passions  or  his  vices. 

When  he  married  he  knew  that  his  wife  was  of 
the  same  church  as  himself  and  that  at  the  wed- 
ding in  St  Paul's  the  priest  had  eulogized  them  in 
due  form  as  befitted  all  the  candles  and  carpets 

4 


^o  Numa  Roumestan. 

and  gorgeous  flowers  that  go  with  a  first-class 
wedding.  He  had  never  worried  further  about  it. 
All  the  women  whom  he  knew  —  his  mother,  his 
cousins,  his  aunt,  the  Duchesse  de  San  Donnino, 
were  devout  Catholics ;  so  he  was  much  surprised 
after  several  months  of  marriage  to  observe  that 
his  wife  never  went  to  church.     He  spoke  of  it : 

"  Do  you  never  go  to  confession?  " 

**  No,  my  dear,"  she  answered  quietly,  "  nor  you 
either,  so  far  as  I  can  see." 

"  Oh,  I  —  that  is  quite  different !  " 

"Why  so?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  such  a  sincerely  puzzled 
expression  —  she  seemed  so  far  from  understand- 
ing  her  own  inferiority  as  a  woman,  that  he  made 
no  reply  and  waited  for  her  to  explain. 

No,  she  was  not  a  free-thinker,  nor  a  strong- 
minded  woman.  Educated  in  Paris  at  a  good 
school,  she  had  had  for  confessor  a  priest  of  Saint- 
Laurent  up  to  seventeen ;  when  she  left  school, 
and  even  for  some  time  after,  she  had  fulfilled  all 
her  religious  duties  at  the  side  of  her  mother,  who 
was  a  bigoted  Southerner.  Then,  one  day,  some- 
thing within  her  seemed  suddenly  to  give  way,  and 
she  declared  to  her  parents  that  she  felt  an  in- 
superable repulsion  for  the  confessional.  Her 
pious  mother  would  have  tried  to  overcome  what 
she  looked  upon  as  a  whim,  but  her  father  had 
interfered : 

**  Let  her  alone ;  it  took  hold  of  me  just  as  it  has 
seized  her  and  at  the  same  age." 

And  since  then  she  had  consulted  only  her  own 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     51 

pure  young  conscience  in  regard  to  her  actions. 
Otherwise  she  was  a  Parisian,  a  woman  of  the 
world  to  her  finger-tips,  and  disliked  the  bad  taste 
in  displays  of  independence.  If  Numa  wished  to 
go  to  church  she  would  go  with  him,  as  for  a  long 
while  she  had  gone  with  her  mother;  but  at  the 
same  time  she  would  not  lie  or  pretend  to  believe 
that  in  which  she  had  lost  all  faith. 

Numa  listened  to  her  in  speechless  amazement, 
alarmed  to  hear  such  sentiments  expressed  with  a 
firmness  and  conviction  in  her  own  moral  being 
that  dissipated  all  his  Southern  ideas  about  the 
dependency  of  women. 

''Then  you  don't  believe  in  God?"  he  asked 
in  his  best  forensic  manner,  his  raised  finger 
pointed  solemnly  toward  the  moldings  of  the  ceil- 
ing. She  gave  a  cry  of  astonishment:  *' Is  it 
possible  to  do  so?  "  —  so  spontaneously  and  with 
such  conviction  that  it  was  as  good  as  a  confession 
of  faith.  Then  he  fell  back  on  what  the  world 
would  say,  on  social  conventions,  on  the  intimate 
connection  between  religion  and  monarchy.  All 
the  ladies  whom  they  knew  went  to  church,  the 
duchess  and  Mme.  d'Escarbes ;  they  had  their 
confessors  to  dine  and  at  evening  parties.  Her 
strange  views  would  have  a  bad  effect  upon  them 
socially,  were  they  known.  He  suddenly  ceased 
speaking,  feeling  that  he  was  floundering  about  in 
commonplaces,  and  the  discussion  ended  there. 
Far  several  Sundays  in  succession  he  went  through 
a  grand  and  hollow  form  of  taking  his  wife  to  mass, 
whereby  Rosalie  gained  the  boon  of  a  pleasant 


52  Nitma  Roumestan, 

walk  on  her  husband's  arm ;  but  he  soon  wearied 
of  the  business,  pleaded  important  engagements 
and  let  the  religious  question  drop. 

This  first  misunderstanding  made  no  breach  be- 
tween them.  As  if  seeking  pardon,  the  young 
wife  redoubled  her  devotion  to  her  husband  and 
her  usual  clever,  smiling  deference  to  his  wishes. 
No  longer  so  blind  as  in  the  earHer  days,  per- 
chance she  sometimes  felt  a  vague  premonition 
of  things  that  she  would  not  admit  even  to  her- 
self; but  she  was  happy  still,  because  she  wished 
to  be  so,  and  because  she  lived  in  that  dreamlike 
atmosphere  enveloping  the  new  life  of  a  young 
married  woman  still  surrounded  by  the  dreams 
and  uncertainty  which  are  like  the  clouds  of  white 
tulle  of  the  wedding  dress  that  drape  the  form  of 
a  bride.  The  awakening  was  bound  to  come;  to 
her  it  was  sudden  and  frightful. 

One  summer  day  —  they  were  staying  at  Orsay, 
a  country  seat  belonging  to  the  Le  Quesnoys  — 
her  father  and  husband  had  already  gone  up  to 
Paris,  as  they  did  every  morning,  when  Rosalie 
discovered  that  the  pattern  for  a  little  garment 
she  was  making  was  not  to  be  found.  The  gar- 
ment was  part  of  the  outfit  for  the  expected  heir. 
It  is  true  there  are  beautiful  things  to  be  bought 
ready-made  at  the  shops,  but  real  mothers,  the 
women  who  feel  the  mother-love  in  advance,  like 
to  plan  and  cut  and  sew ;  and  as  the  pile  of  little 
clothes  increases  in  the  box,  as  each  garment  is 
finished,  feel  that  they  are  hastening  the  matter 
and   each   object   is   bringing   the   advent  of  the 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     53 

longed-for  birth  one  step  nearer.  Rosalie  would 
not  for  worlds  have  allowed  any  other  hand 
to  touch  this  tremendous  work  which  had  been 
begun  five  months  before  —  as  soon  as  she  was 
sure  of  her  coming  happiness.  On  the  bench  where 
she  sat  under  the  big  catalpa  tree  down  there  at 
Orsay  were  spread  out  dainty  little  caps  that  were 
only  big  enough  to  be  tried  on  one's  fist,  little 
flannel  skirts  and  dresses,  the  straight  sleeves  sug- 
gesting the  stiff  gestures  of  the  tiny  form  for  which 
they  were  designed  —  and  now,  here  she  was  with- 
out this  most  important  pattern  ! 

"  Send  your  maid  up  town  for  it,"  suggested  her 
mother. 

A  maid,  indeed !  What  should  she  know  about 
it?  "No,  no,  I  shall  go  myself.  I  will  have  fin- 
ished my  shopping  by  noon,  and  then  I  shall  go 
and  surprise  Numa  and  eat  up  half  his  luncheon." 

It  was  a  beautiful  idea,  this  bachelor  luncheon 
with  her  husband,  alone  in  the  half-darkened  house 
in  the  Rue  Scribe,  with  the  curtains  all  gone  and 
the  furniture  covered  up ;  it  would  be  a  regular 
spree  !  She  laughed  to  herself  as  all  alone  she  ran 
up  the  steps,  her  errands  done,  and  put  her  key 
softly  in  the  lock  so  that  she  might  surprise  him. 
*'  It  is  pretty  late,  he  has  probably  finished." 

Indeed,  she  did  find  only  the  remnants  of  a  dainty 
meal  for  two  upon  the  table  in  the  dining  room, 
and  the  footman  in  his  checked  jacket  hard  at  it 
emptying  all  the  bottles  and  dishes.  She  thought 
of  nothing  at  first  but  that  her  want  of  punctuality 
had  spoiled  her  little  plan.     If  only  she  had  not 


54  Numa  Roumestan, 

loafed  so  long  in  that  shop  over  those  adorable 
little  garments,  all  lace  and  embroideries ! 

"  Has  your  master  gone  out?  " 

The  slowness  of  the  servant  in  answering,  the 
sudden  pallor  that  overspread  his  big  impudent 
face  framed  in  long  whiskers,  did  not  at  first  strike 
her.  She  only  saw  a  servant  embarrassed  at  being 
caught  helping  himself  to  his  master's  wines  and 
good  things.  Still  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to 
say  that  his  master  was  still  there,  but  that  he  was 
very  much  occupied  and  would  be  occupied  for 
quite  a  while.  But  it  took  him  some  time  to 
stammer  out  this  information.  How  the  fellow's 
hands  trembled  as  he  cleared  off  the  table  and 
began  to  rearrange  it  for  his  mistress's  luncheon ! 

*'  Has  he  been  lunching  alone?" 

"  Yes,  Madame ;  at  least,  only  Monsieur  Bom- 
pard." 

She  had  suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  black  lace 
scarf  lying  on  a  chair.  The  foolish  fellow  saw  it 
at  the  same  moment,  and  as  their  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  same  object  the  whole  thing  stood  be- 
fore her  in  a  flash.  Quickly,  without  a  word,  she 
crossed  the  Httle  waiting  room,  went  straight  to 
the  door  of  the  library,  opened  it  wide,  and  fell 
flat  on  the  floor.  They  had  not  even  troubled 
themselves  to  lock  the  door! 

And  if  you  had  seen  the  woman !  Forty  years 
old,  a  washed-out  blonde  with  a  pimply  complex- 
ion, thin  lips  and  eyelids  wrinkled  like  an  old 
glove!  Under  her  eyes  were  purple  scars,  signs 
of  her  evil  life ;   her  shoulders  were  bony  and  her 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     55 

voice  harsh.  But  —  she  was  high-born,  the  Mar- 
quise d'Escarbes !  which  to  the  Southerner  means 
everything.  The  escutcheon  concealed  her  defects 
as  a  woman.  Separated  from  her  husband  through 
an  unsavory  divorce  suit,  disowned  by  her  family 
and  no  longer  received  in  the  great  houses  of  the 
Faubourg,  Mme.  d'Escarbes  had  gone  over  to  the 
Empire  and  had  opened  a  political  diplomatic 
salon,  one  of  those  which  are  for  the  police  rather 
than  politicians,  where  one  could  find  the  most 
notorious  persons  of  the  day  —  without  their  wives. 
Then,  after  two  years  of  intrigues,  having  gathered 
together  quite  a  following,  she  determined  to  ap- 
peal her  law  case.  Roumestan,  who  had  been  her 
lawyer  in  the  first  suit,  could  not  very  well  refuse 
to  take  up  the  second.  He  hesitated,  nevertheless, 
for  public  opinion  was  very  strong  against  her. 
But  the  entreaties  of  the  Marquise  took  such  con- 
vincing steps  and  the  lawyer's  vanity  was  so  flat- 
tered by  the  steps  themselves  that  he  had  yielded. 
Now  that  the  case  was  soon  to  be  on,  they  saw 
each  other  every  day,  either  at  her  house  or  his 
own,  pushing  the  affair  vigorously  and  from  two 
standpoints. 

This  terrible  discovery  nearly  killed  Rosalie; 
it  struck  her  doubly  in  her  sensibility  to  pain 
as  a  woman  with  child,  bearing  as  she  did  two 
hearts  within  her,  two  spots  for  suffering.  The 
child  was  killed,  but  the  mother  lived.  But  after 
three  days  of  unconsciousness,  when  she  regained 
memory  and  the  power  of  suffering,  her  tears 
poured  forth  in  a  torrent,  a  bitter  flood  that  noth- 


5 6  Numa  Roumestan. 

ing  could  stem.  When  she  had  wept  her  heart 
out  over  the  faithlessness  of  her  husband,  the 
empty  cradle  and  the  dainty  little  garments  resting 
useless  under  the  transparent  blue  curtains  caused 
her  anguish  to  break  forth  again  in  tears  —  but 
without  a  cry  or  lament! 

Poor  Numa  was  in  almost  as  deep  despair  as  she 
was.  The  hope  of  a  little  Roumestan,  **  the  eldest," 
who  is  always  a  great  personage  in  Provencal 
families,  was  gone  forever,  destroyed  by  his  own 
fault.  The  pale  face  of  his  wife  with  its  resigned 
expression,  her  compressed  lips  and  smothered 
sobs,  nearly  broke  his  heart  —  her  grief  was  so  dif- 
ferent from  his  way  of  acting,  from  the  coarse, 
superficial  sensibility  that  he  showed  as  he  sat  at 
the  foot  of  his  victim's  bed,  saying  at  intervals  with 
swimming  eyes  and  trembling  lips,  **  Come  now, 
Rosalie,  come  now !  "  That  was  all  he  could  find 
to  say ;  but  what  vanity  in  that  "  Come  now,"  ut- 
tered with  the  Southern  accent  that  so  easily  takes 
on  a  sympathetic  tone;  yet  beneath  it  all  one 
seemed  to  hear:  "Don't  let  it  worry  you,  my 
darling  little  pet !  Is  it  really  worth  while?  Does 
it  keep  me  from  loving  you  just  the  same?  " 

It  is  true  that  he  did  love  her  just  as  much  as 
his  shallow  nature  was  capable  of  loving  constantly 
any  one.  lie  could  not  bear  to  think  of  any  one 
else  presiding  over  his  house,  caring  for  him,  or 
petting  him. 

**  I  must  have  devotion  about  me,"  he  said  naYve- 
ly,  and  he  well  knew  that  the  devotion  she  had  to 
give  was  the  perfection  of  everything  that  a  man 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a   Great  Man,     57 

could  desire ;  so  the  idea  of  losing  her  was  horrible 
to  him.     If  that  is  not  love,  what  is? 

Rosalie,  alas,  was  thinking  on  quite  another  line. 
Her  life  was  wrecked,  her  idol  fallen,  her  confi- 
dence in  him  forever  lost.  And  yet  she  had  for- 
given him.  She  had  forgiven  him,  however,  as  a 
mother  yields  to  the  child  that  cries  and  begs 
for  her  pardon ;  also  for  the  sake  of  their  name, 
her  father's  honored  name  that  the  scandal  of  a 
separation  would  have  tarnished,  and  because 
every  one  believed  her  happy  and  she  could  not 
let  them  know  the  truth. 

But  let  him  beware !  After  this  pardon  so 
generously  accorded,  she  warned  him,  a  repetition 
of  such  an  outrage  would  not  find  the  same 
clemency.  Let  him  never  try  it  again,  or  their 
lives  would  be  separated  cruelly  and  forever  under 
the  eyes  of  the  whole  world.  There  was  a  firm- 
ness in  her  tone  and  look  as  she  said  this,  which 
showed  her  capable  of  revenging  her  wounded 
woman's  pride  upon  a  society  that  held  her  im- 
prisoned in  its   bonds. 

Numa  understood ;  he  swore  in  perfect  good 
faith  that  he  would  sin  no  more.  He  was  still 
upset  at  the  risk  he  had  run  of  losing  his  happi- 
ness and  that  repose  which  was  so  necessary  to 
him,  all  for  an  intrigue  which  had  only  appealed  to 
his  vanity.  It  was  an  immense  relief  to  be  rid  of 
his  great  lady,  his  bony  marquise,  who  but  for  her 
noble  coat-of-arms  was  hardly  more  desirable  than 
poor  **  every  one's  old  girl  "  at  the  Cafe  Malmus  ;  to 
have  no  more  love-letters  to  write  and  rendezvous 


cS  Numa  Roumestan, 

to  make  and  keep.  The  knowledge  that  this  silly 
sentimental  nonsense  which  had  so  tried  his  ease- 
loving  nature  was  over  and  done  with  enchanted 
him  as  much  as  his  wife's  forgiveness  and  the 
restored  peace  of  his  household. 

He  was  as  happy  as  before  all  this  had  hap- 
pened. No  apparent  change  took  place  in  their 
mode  of  life  —  the  table  always  laid,  the  same 
crowd  of  guests,  the  same  round  of  entertainments 
and  receptions  at  which  Numa  sang  and  declaimed 
and  strutted,  unconscious  that  at  his  side  sat  one 
whose  beautiful  eyes  were  evermore  open  and 
aware  of  facts  under  their  veil  of  actual  tears. 
She  understood  her  great  man  now  :  all  words  and 
gestures,  kind-hearted  and  generous  at  times,  but 
kind  only  a  little  while,  made  up  of  caprice,  a 
love  of  showing  off  and  a  desire  to  please  like 
a  coquette.  She  realized  the  shallowness  of  such  a 
nature,  undecided  in  his  beliefs  as  in  his  dislikes; 
above  all  she  feared  for  both  their  sakes  the  weak- 
ness hidden  under  his  swelling  words  and  resound- 
ing voice,  a  weakness  which  angered  and  yet 
endeared  him  to  her,  because,  now  that  her  wifely 
love  had  vanished,  she  felt  the  yearning  towards  him 
that  a  mother  feels  to  a  wayward  child.  Always 
ready  to  sacrifice  herself  and  to  be  devoted  in  spite 
of  treachery,  the  secret  fear  haunted  her  still :  "  If 
only  he  does  not  wear  out  my  patience !  " 

Clear-sighted  as  she  was,  Rosalie  quickly  ob- 
served a  change  in  her  husband's  political  opinions. 
His  relations  with  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  had 
begun  to  cool.    The  nankin  waistcoat  and  fleur-de- 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     59 

lis  pin  of  old  Sagnier  no  longer  awed  him.  Sag- 
nier's  mind,  he  said,  was  not  what  it  had  been. 
It  was  his  shadow  alone  that  presided  at  the  Palace, 
a  sleepy  ghost  that  recalled  far  too  well  the  epoch 
of  the  Legitimacy  and  its  morbid  inactivity,  the 
next  thing  to  death. 

So  it  was  that  Numa  slowly,  gently  developed  to- 
wards the  Empire,  opening  his  doors  to  notable 
men  among  the  Imperialists  whom  he  had  met  at 
the  house  of  Mme.  d'Escarbes,  whose  influence 
had  prepared  him  for  this  very  change. 

*'  Look  out  for  your  great  man ;  I  am  afraid  he 
is  going  to  moult,"  said  the  councillor  to  his 
daughter  at  dinner  one  day,  when  the  lawyer  had 
been  letting  his  coarse  satire  loose  regarding  the 
affair  of  Froschdorf,  which  he  compared  to  the 
wooden  horse  of  Don  Quixote,  stationary  and 
nailed  down,  while  his  rider  with  bandaged  eyes 
believed  he  was  careering  far  through  heavenly 
space. 

She  did  not  have  to  ask  many  questions.  De- 
ceitful as  he  might  be,  his  lies,  which  he  scorned 
to  cover  with  complications  or  with  finesse,  were 
so  careless  that  they  betrayed  him  at  once. 

Going  into  the  library  one  morning  she  found 
him  absorbed  in  writing  a  letter,  and  leaning  over 
him  with  her  head  near  his  she  inquired : 

"  To  whom  are  you  writing?  " 

He  stammered,  tried  to  invent  something,  but 
the  clear  eyes  searched  him  through  and  through 
like  a  conscience  ;  he  had  an  impulse  to  be  frank 
because  he  could  not  help  it. 


6o  Nttma  Roumestan, 

It  was  a  letter  to  the  emperor  accepting  the 
position  of  councillor  of  state,  written  in  the  dry 
but  emphatic  style,  that  style  at  the  bar  which  he 
employed  when  addressing  the  Bench  whilst  he 
gesticulated  with  his  long  sleeves.  It  began  thus : 
**  A  Vendean  of  the  South,  raised  in  the  belief  in 
the  monarchy  and  a  respectful  reverence  for  the 
past,  I  feel  that  I  shall  not  do  violence  to  my 
honor  or  to  my  conscience — " 

"  You  must  not  send  that !  "  said  she  quickly. 

He  flew  into  a  rage,  talked  loudly  and  brutally 
like  a  shopman  at  Aps  laying  down  the  law  in  his 
own  household.  What  business  was  it  of  hers, 
after  all  was  said  and  done?  What  did  she  mean 
by  it?  Did  he  interfere  with  her  about  the  shape 
of  her  bonnets  or  the  models  of  her  gowns?  He 
stormed  and  thundered  as  if  he  had  a  public 
audience,  but  Rosalie  maintained  a  tranquil,  al- 
most disdainful  silence  at  such  violence  as  this, 
mere  remnant  of  a  will  already  broken,  sure  of  her 
victory  in  the  end.  These  crises  which  weaken 
and  disarm  them  are  themselves  the  ruin  of  exu- 
berant natures. 

**  You  must  not  send  that  letter.  It  would  give 
the  lie  to  your  whole  life,  to  all  your  obliga- 
tions—" 

"  My  obligations !  and  to  whom?  " 

"  To  me.  Remember  how  we  first  knew  each 
other,  how  you  won  my  heart  by  your  protesta- 
tions and  disgust  at  the  emperor's  masquerades.  It 
was  not  so  much  the  sentiments  that  I  admired  in 
you  as  the  fixed  purpose  that  you  showed  to  up- 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     61 

hold  a  righteous  cause  once  adopted  —  your  steady 
manly  will !  " 

But  he  defended  his  conduct.  Ought  he  eat  his 
heart  out  all  his  life  long  in  a  party  frozen  stiff, 
without  springs  of  action,  a  camp  deserted  and 
abandoned  under  the  snow?  Besides,  it  was  not  he 
who  went  to  the  Empire,  it  was  the  Empire  that 
came  to  him.  The  emperor  was  an  excellent  man, 
full  of  ideas,  much  superior  to  his  court  —  in  fine, 
he  brought  to  bear  all  the  good  arguments  for 
playing  the  traitor.  But  Rosalie  would  accept 
none  of  them,  and  tried  to  show  him  that  his 
conduct  would  not  only  be  treacherous  but  short- 
sighted : 

"  Do  you  not  see  how  uneasy  these  people  are, 
how  they  feel  that  the  earth  is  mined  and  hollow 
beneath  their  feet?  The  slightest  jar  from  a  roll- 
ing stone  and  the  whole  thing  will  crumble  !  And 
into  what  a  gulf!  " 

She  talked  with  perfect  clearness,  gave  details, 
repeated  many  things  that  she,  always  a  silent 
person,  had  picked  up  after  dinner  from  the  talks 
when  the  men  would  leave  the  women,  intelligent 
or  not,  to  languish  over  toilets  and  worldly  scan- 
dal in  conversation  that  even  such  topics  could 
not  enliven. 

"  Odd  little  woman  !  "  thought  Roumestan.  Where 
had  she  learned  all  that  she  was  saying?  He 
could  not  get  over  the  fact  that  she  was  so  clever; 
and,  following  one  of  those  sudden  changes  that 
make  these  gusty  natures  so  lovable,  he  took  this 
reasoning  little  head,  so  charming  with  youth  and 


62  Numa  Roumestan. 

yet  so  intelligent,  between  his  hands  and  covered 
it  with  a  passion  of  tender  kisses. 

*'  You  are  right,  a  thousand  times  right !  I  ought 
to  write  just  the  opposite  !  " 

He  was  going  to  tear  up  the  rough  copy,  but  he 
noted  that  in  the  opening  sentence  there  was  a 
phrase  that  pleased  him,  one  that  might  still  serve 
his  turn  if  it  were  changed  a  bit,  somewhat  in  this 
way : 

"  A  Vendean  of  the  South,  raised  in  the  belief 
in  the  monarchy  and  a  respectful  reverence  for 
the  past,  I  feel  that  I  should  do  violence  to  my 
honor  and  conscience,  if  I  accepted  the  post  which 
your  Majesty  —  "  etc. 

This  polite  but  firm  refusal  published  in  all  the 
Legitimist  papers  raised  Roumestan  to  a  very  dif- 
ferent place  in  public  opinion ;  it  made  his  name  a 
synonym  for  incorruptibility.  "  Cannot  be  rent," 
wrote  the  Charivari  under  an  amusing  cartoon 
which  represented  the  toga  of  the  great  jurist 
resisting  the  violent  tugging  of  the  several  political 
parties. 

Shortly  after  this  the  Empire  went  to  pieces  and 
when  the  Assembly  of  Bordeaux  met  Numa  had 
the  choice  between  three  departments  which  had 
elected  him  their  Deputy  to  the  House,  entirely  on 
account  of  his  letter  to  the  emperor.  His  first 
speeches,  delivered  with  a  somewhat  forced  and 
turgid  eloquence,  soon  made  him  leader  of  all  the 
parties  of  the  Right. 

He  was  only  the  small  change  of  old  Sagnier, 
but  in  these  days  of  middle-class  races,  blue  blood 


The  Seamy  Side  of  a  Great  Man,     63 

rarely  came  to  the  front,  and  so  the  new  leader 
triumphed  on  the  benches  of  the  Chamber  as 
easily  as  on  the  old  red  divans  at  Father  Malmus's 
cafe. 

Councillor-general  in  his  own  department,  the 
idol  of  the  entire  South,  and  raised  still  higher  by 
the  position  of  his  father-in-law,  who  after  the  fall 
of  the  Empire  had  become  first  president  of 
the  court  of  appeals,  Numa  without  doubt  was 
marked  out  to  become  sooner  or  later  a  cabinet 
minister.  In  the  meantime  a  great  man  in  the 
eyes  of  every  one  but  his  own  wife,  he  carried  his 
fresh  glories  about,  from  Paris  to  Versailles  and 
down  to  Provence,  amiable,  familiar,  jolly  and  un- 
conventional, bringing  his  aureola  with  him,  it  is 
true,  but  only  too  willing  to  leave  it  in  its  band- 
box, like  an  opera  hat  when  no  ceremony  calls  for 
its. presence. 


64  Numa  Roumestan. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  SOUTHERN  AUNT  —  REMINISCENCES   OF 
CHILDHOOD. 

The  Portal  mansion  in  which  the  great  man  dwells 
when  he  is  in  Provence  is  one  of  the  show-places 
of  Aps.  It  is  mentioned  by  the  Joanne  guide-book 
in  the  same  category  as  the  temple  of  Juno,  the 
amphitheatre,  the  old  theatre  and  the  tower  of  the 
Antonines,  relics  of  the  old  Roman  days  of  which 
the  town  is  very  proud  and  always  keeps  well  fur- 
bished up.  But  it  is  not  the  heavy  ancient  arched 
gate  of  the  old  provincial  residence  itself,  embossed 
with  immense  nails,  nor  the  high  windows,  bristling 
with  iron  bars,  spikes  and  pike-heads  of  a  threat- 
ening sort,  that  they  point  out  to  the  stranger  who 
comes  to  see  the  town.  It  is  only  a  little  balcony 
with  its  black  iron  props  on  the  first  floor,  cor- 
belled out  above  the  porch.  For  it  is  here  that 
Numa  shows  himself  to  the  crowd  when  he  arrives 
and  it  is  from  here  that  he  speaks.  The  whole 
town  is  witness  that  the  iron  balcony,  which  was 
once  as  straight  as  a  rule,  has  been  hammered 
into  such  an  original  shape,  into  such  capricious 
curves,  by  the  blows  showered  upon  it  by  the 
powerful  fist  of  the  orator. 


A  Southern  Aunt  65 

"  TV,  ve  !  our  Numa  has  molded  the  iron !  " 

This  they  will  say  with  bulging  eyes  and  so 
much  earnestness  as  to  leave  no  room  for  doubt — 
say  it  with  that  imposing  rolling  of  the  "  r  "  thus : 
petrrri  le  ferrr  I 

They  are  a  proud  race,  these  good  people  of 
Aps,  and  kindly  withal,  but  vivid  in  their  impres- 
sions and  most  exaggerated  in  their  language,  of 
which  Aunt  Portal,  a  true  type  of  the  local  citi- 
zenry, gave  a  very  fair  idea. 

Immensely  fat,  apoplectic,  her  blood  rushing  to 
her  pendulous  cheeks  purple  like  the  lees  of  wine 
in  fine  contrast  with  her  pale  complexion,  the  skin 
of  a  former  blonde.  So  far  as  one  saw  it  the  throat 
was  very  white,  and  her  neat  handsome  iron-gray 
curls  showed  from  beneath  a  cap  decorated  with 
lilac  ribbon.  Her  bodice  was  hooked  awry,  but 
she  was  imposing  nevertheless,  having  a  majestic 
air  and  a  pleasant  smile  and  manner.  It  was  thus 
that  she  appeared  in  the  half-light  of  her  drawing- 
room,  always  kept  hermetically  sealed  after  the 
Southern  custom.  You  would  say  she  looked  like 
an  old  family  portrait,  or  one  of  Mirabeau's  old 
marquises,  and  very  appropriate  to  her  old  house, 
built  a  hundred  years  ago  by  Gonzague  Portal, 
chief  councillor  of  the  Parliament  of  Aix. 

It  is  not  uncommon  to  find  people  and  houses 
ia  Provence  that  seem  as  if  they  belong  to  olden 
times,  as  if  the  last  century,  while  passing  out 
through  those  high  panelled  doors,  had  let  a  bit  of 
her  gown  full  of  furbelows  stick  in  the  crack  of  the 
door, 

5 


66  Numa  Roumestan. 

But  if  in  conversing  with  Aunt  Portal  you  should 
be  so  unlucky  as  to  hint  that  Protestants  are  as 
good  as  Catholics,  or  that  Henry  V  may  not 
ascend  the  throne  at  any  moment,  the  old  portrait 
will  spring  headlong  out  of  its  frame,  and  with  the 
veins  on  its  neck  swelling  and  the  hands  tearing 
at  the  neatly  hanging  curls,  will  fly  into  an  un- 
governable passion,  swear,  threaten  and  curse ! 
These  outbursts  have  passed  into  tradition  in  the 
town  and  many  wonderful  tales  are  told  upon  the 
subject.  At  an  evening  party  in  her  house  a 
servant  let  fall  a  tray  of  wineglasses ;  Aunt  Portal 
fell  into  one  of  her  fits  of  rage,  shouting  and  excit- 
ing herself  with  cries,  reproaches  and  lamentations; 
finally  her  voice  failed,  and  almost  choking  in  her 
frenzy,  unable  to  beat  the  unlucky  servant,  who 
had  promptly  fled,  she  raised  the  skirt  of  her  dress 
and  wrapped  it  about  her  head  and  face  to  con- 
ceal her  groans  and  her  visage  disfigured  by  rage, 
quite  regardless  of  the  voluminous  display  of  a 
portly,  white-fleshed  lady  to  which  she  was  treating 
her  guests. 

In  any  other  part  of  the  country  she  would  have 
been  considered  mad,  but  in  Aps,  the  land  of  hot 
brains  and  explosive  natures,  they  were  satisfied 
to  say  that  she  "  rode  a  high  horse."  It  is  true 
that  passers-by  on  the  quiet  square  before  her 
doors  on  restful  afternoons,  when  the  cloistral 
stillness  of  the  town  is  only  broken  by  the  chirp- 
ing of  the  locusts  or  a  few  notes  on  a  piano,  are 
wont  to  hear  such  words  as  '*  monster,"  **  thief," 
**  assassin,"  "  stealers  of  priests'  property,"  "  I  'U 


A  Southern  Aunt.  67 

cut  your  arm  off,"  ''I'll  rip  the  skin  off  your 
stomach  !  "  Then  doors  would  slam  and  stairways 
tremble  beneath  the  vaults  of  whitewashed  stone ; 
windows  would  open  noisily,  as  though  the  muti- 
lated bodies  of  the  unhappy  servants  were  to  be 
thrown  from  them !  But  nothing  happens ;  the 
servants  placidly  continue  their  work,  accustomed 
to  these  tempests,  knowing  perfectly  that  they  are 
mere  habits  of  speech. 

An  excellent  person,  all  things  considered, 
ardent,  generous,  with  a  great  desire  to  please 
and  to  sacrifice  herself  —  a  noble  trait  in  these 
impulsive  people,  and  one  by  which  Numa  had 
profited.  Since  he  had  been  chosen  deputy  the 
house  on  the  Place  Cavalerie  belonged  to  him,  his 
aunt  only  reserving  the  right  to  remain  there  the 
rest  of  her  life.  And  then,  what  a  delight  it  was 
to  her  when  the  party  from  Paris  arrived,  with  the 
receptions,  the  visits,  the  morning  music  and  the 
serenades  which  the  presence  of  the  great  man 
brought  into  that  lonely  life  of  hers,  eager  for 
excitement !  Besides,  she  adored  her  niece  Rosa- 
lie, partly  because  they  were  so  entirely  the  oppo- 
site of  each  other  and  also  because  of  the  respect 
she  felt  for  the  daughter  of  the  chief  magistrate 
of  France. 

It  really  needed  a  world  of  patience  on  Rosalie's 
part  and  all  the  love  of  family  inculcated  in  her  by 
her  parents  to  endure  for  two  whole  months  the 
whims  and  tiresome  caprices  of  this  disordered 
imagination,  always  over-excited  and  as  restless  in 
mind  as  she  was  indolent  in  her  big  body.     Seated 


68  Numa  Roumestan, 

in  the  large  vestibule,  as  cool  as  a  Moorish  court,  but 
yet  close  and  musty  from  the  exclusion  of  air  and 
sunshine,  Rosalie,  holding  a  bit  of  embroidery  in 
her  hands  —  for  like  a  true  Parisian  she  never  could 
be  idle  —  was  obliged  to  listen  for  hours  at  a  time  to 
her  surprising  confidences.  The  enormous  lady  sat 
before  her  in  an  arm-chair,  with  her  hands  free  in 
order  to  gesticulate,  and  recapitulated  breathlessly 
the  chronicles  of  the  whole  town.  She  sometimes 
depicted  her  maid-servants  and  coachman  as  mon- 
sters, sometimes  as  angels,  according  to  the  caprice 
of  the  moment.  She  would  select  some  one  against 
whom  she  apparently  had  some  grudge,  and  cover 
the  detested  one  with  the  foulest,  bloodiest,  most 
venomous  abuse,  relating  stories  like  those  in  the 
Annals  of  the  Propagation  of  the  Faith,  Rosalie, 
who  had  lived  with  Numa,  had  luckily  become 
accustomed  to  these  frantic  objurgations.  She  lis- 
tened abstractedly  ;  for  the  most  part  they  passed 
in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other ;  hardly  did  she 
stop  to  wonder  how  it  came  about  that  she,  so 
reserved  and  discreet,  could  ever  have  entered 
such  a  family  of  theatrical  persons  who  draped 
themselves  with  phrases  and  overflowed  with  ges- 
tures. It  had  to  be  a  very  strong  bit  of  gossip  to 
make  her  hold  up  Aunt  Portal  with  an  "  Oh,  my 
dear  aunt !  "  thrown  out  with  a  far-away  air. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  my  dear,  perhaps  I  do 
exaggerate  a  little." 

But  Aunt  Portal's  tumultuous  imagination  was 
soon  off  again,  recounting  some  comic  or  tragic 
tale  with  so   much  mimicry  and   dramatic   effect 


A  Southern  Aunt,  69 

that  she  gave  one  the  impression  of  wearing  alter- 
nately the  two  masks  borne  by  ancient  actors  of 
tragedy  and  of  comedy.  She  only  calmed  down 
when  she  described  her  one  visit  to  Paris  and  re- 
lated the  wonders  of  the  arrival  in  the  "  Passage 
Somon,"  where  she  had  stopped  at  a  small  hotel 
patronized  by  all  the  travelling  salesmen  of  her 
native  province,  where  they  **  took  the  air "  in  a 
glass-covered  passage  as  stuffy ,and  hot  as  a  melon- 
frame.  Of  all  her  remarkable  stories  of  Paris  this 
place  was  the  central  point  from  which  everything 
else  evolved  —  it  was  the  elegant,  fashionable  spot 
beyond  all  others. 

These  tiresome,  empty  tirades  had  at  least  the 
spice  of  being  uttered  in  the  strangest  and  most 
amusing  kind  of  language,  in  which  an  old-school 
stilted  French,  the  French  of  books  of  rhetoric, 
was  mixed  with  the  oddest  provincialisms.  Aunt 
Portal  detested  the  Provencal  tongue,  that  dialect 
so  admirable  in  color  and  sonorousness,  which  only 
the  peasants  and  people  talk,  which  contains  an 
echo  of  Latin  vibrating  across  the  deep  blue  sea. 
She  belonged  to  the  burgher  class  of  Provence 
who  translate  p^caire  by  pechere  (sinner)  and  fancy 
they  talk  correctly. 

When  her  coachman  Menicle  (Dominick)  in  his 
frank  way  said  to  her  in  Provencal : 

"  Voii  baia  de  civ  ado  au  chivaou''  (I  am  going 
to  give  the  horses  oats)  —  she  would  assume  an 
austere  air  and  say: 

"  I  do  not  understand  you  —  speak  French,  my 
good  fellow !  " 


yo  Numa  Roumestan, 

Then  M^nicle,  like  a  docile  schoolboy,  would 

say: 

''Je  vais  hayer  d^  civade  au  chivau." 

"That  is  right,  now  I  understand  you  !  "  —  and  he 
would  go  away  thinking  that  he  had  been  speaking 
the  language.  It  is  a  fact  that  most  of  the  people 
in  the  South  below  Valence  only  know  this  hybrid 
kind  of  French. 

But  besides  all  this  Aunt  Portal  played  upon 
her  words  by  no  means  according  to  her  fancy  but 
in  accordance  with  the  rules  of  some  local  gram- 
mar. Thus  she  said  diligence  for  diligence y  aMter 
for  acheter,  an^ote  for  anecdote^  r^giire  for  registre. 
She  called  a  pillow-slip  (taie  d'oreiller)  a  cous- 
sinihe,  an  umbrella  was  an  ombrette,  the  foot- 
warmer  which  she  used  at  all  seasons  of  the  year 
was  a  banquette.  She  did  not  cry,  she  "  fell  to 
tears ;  "  and  though  very  '*  overweighted "  she 
never  took  more  than  "  half  hour  "  for  her  round  of 
the  city.  All  this  twaddle  was  larded  with  those 
little  words  and  expressions  without  precise  mean- 
ing which  Provencals  scatter  through  their  speech, 
those  verbal  snips  which  they  stuff  between  sen- 
tences to  less^on  their  stress  or  increase  their 
strength,  or  keep  up  the  multifold  character  of 
the  accent,  such  as 

^'  Aie,  07iie,  avai,  agavaiy  au  moins^  pas  moinSy 
diff&emment,  allons!  " 

This  contempt  of  Mme.  Portal  for  the  language 
of  her  province  extended  to  its  usages  and  its  tra- 
ditions and  even  to  its  costume.  Just  as  she  did 
not  permit  her  coachman  to  lapse  into  Provencal, 


A  Southern  Aunt,  71 

in  the  same  way  she  never  would  have  allowed  a 
servant  to  enter  her  house  wearing  the  head-dress 
and  neck-kerchief  of  Aries. 

*'  My  house  is  neither  a  mas  (farm)  nor  a 
weaver's  loft,"  said  she.  Nor  would  she  let  them 
wear  a  chapo  either.  To  wear  a  bonnet  is  the 
distinctive  hieratic  sign  of  the  ascendancy  of  the 
citizen  in  the  provinces.  The  title  of  "  madame  " 
is  one  of  its  attributes,  a  title  refused  to  any  of  the 
baser  sort.  It  is  amusing  to  see  the  condescension 
of  the  wife  of  a  retired  officer  or  municipal  em- 
ployee who  earns  eight  hundred  francs  a  year, 
doing  her  own  marketing  in  an  enormous  bonnet, 
when  she  speaks  to  the  wife  of  an  immensely  rich 
farmer  from  the  Crau,  in  her  picturesque  head- 
gear trimmed  with  real  old  thread  lace.  In  the 
Portal  mansion  the  ladies  had  worn  bonnets  for 
over  a  century.  This  made  Mme.  Portal  very 
arrogant  toward  poor  people  and  was  the  cause 
of  a  terrible  scene  between  her  and  Roumestan  a 
few  days  after  the  festival  in  the  amphitheatre. 

It  was  a  Friday  morning  at  breakfast,  a  regular 
Provencal  breakfast,  pretty  and  attractive  to  the 
eye  although  strictly  a  fast-day  meal,  for  Aunt 
Portal  was  very  keen  about  her  orders.  On  the 
white  cloth  in  picturesque  array  were  big  green 
peppers,  alternating  with  blood-red  figs,  almonds 
and  carved  water-melons,  that  looked  like  big  rose- 
colored  magnolias,  anchovy  patties  and  little  white 
rolls  such  as  are  to  be  found  nowhere  else  —  all 
very  light  dishes  set  among  decanters  of  fresh 
water  and  bottles  of  light  home-made  wine.     Out- 


72  Numa  Roumestan, 

side  in  the  sun  the  locusts  and  rays  were  chirping 
and  ghttering,  and  a  broad  band  of  golden  light 
slid  through  a  crevice  into  the  great  dining-room, 
vaulted  and  resounding  like  the  refectory  of  a 
convent. 

In  the  middle  of  the  table  on  a  chafing  dish 
were  two  large  cutlets  designed  for  Numa.  Not- 
withstanding that  his  name  was  uttered  in  all  the 
prayers,  perhaps  because  of  it,  the  great  man  of 
Aps,  alone  of  all  the  family,  had  obtained  a  dis- 
pensation from  fasting  from  the  cardinal.  So  there 
he  sat  feasting  and  carving  his  juicy  cutlets,  while 
his  aunt  and  his  wife  and  sister-in-law  breakfasted 
on  figs  and  watermelon. 

Rosalie  was  used  to  it.  The  two  days'  fast  every 
week  was  but  a  part  of  her  yearly  burden,  as  much 
a  matter  of  course  as  the  sunshine,  the  dust,  the 
hot  mistral  wind,  the  mosquitoes,  her  aunt's  gossip 
and  the  Sunday  services  at  the  church  of  St.  Per- 
petue.  But  the  youthful  appetite  of  Hortense 
revolted  against  this  continual  fasting  and  it  took 
all  the  gentle  authority  of  the  elder  sister  to  pre- 
vent an  outburst  from  the  spoiled  child,  which 
would  have  shocked  all  Aunt  Portal's  ideas  of  the 
conduct  becoming  to  a  young  person  of  refinement 
and  education.  So  Hortense  had  to  content  her- 
self with  her  husks,  revenging  herself  by  making 
the  most  awful  grimaces,  rolling  up  her  eyes,  snuff- 
ing up  the  smell  of  the  cutlets  and  murmuring 
under  her  breath  for  Rosalie's  benefit  alone : 

•'  It  always  happens  so.  I  took  a  long  ride  this 
morning.     I  am  as  hungry  as  a  tramp  !  " 


A  Southern  Aunt,  J2> 

She  still  wore  her  habit,  which  was  as  becoming 
to  her  tall,  slim  figure  as  was  the  straight,  high 
collar  to  her  irregular  saucy  little  face,  still  flushed 
by  her  exercise  in  the  open  air.  Her  ride  had 
given  her  an  idea. 

'*  Oh  Numa,  how  about  Valmajour?  When  are 
we  going  to  see  him?" 

**Who  is  Valmajour?  "  answered  Numa,  whose 
fickle  brain  had  already  discarded  all  memory  of 
the  taborist.  '^  Te,  that 's  a  fact,  Valmajour !  I  had 
forgotten  all  about  him.     What  a  genius  he  is !  " 

It  all  came  back  to  him  —  the  arches  of  the  am- 
phitheatre echoing  to  the  farandole  with  the  dull 
vibration  of  the  tabor;  it  fired  his  memory  and  so 
excited  him  that  he  called  out  decisively: 

"Aunt  Portal,  do  lend  us  the  landau;  we  will 
set  off  directly  after  breakfast." 

His  aunt's  brow  darkened  above  her  big  eyes, 
flaming  like  those  of  a  Japanese  idol. 

'♦The  landau?  Avail  What  for?  At  least 
you  're  not  going  to  take  your  wife  and  sister  to 
see  that  player  of  the  tutn-panpan  !  " 

This  word  "  tutu-panpan  "  so  perfectly  mimicked 
the  sound  of  the  fife  and  tabor  that  Roumestan 
burst  out  laughing,  but  Hortense  took  up  the 
defence  of  the  old  Provencal  tabor  with  much 
earnestness.  Nothing  that  she  had  seen  in  the 
South  had  impressed  her  so  much.  Besides,  it 
would  not  be  honest  to  break  one's  word  to  the 
nice  boy. 

"  He  is  a  great  artist !  Numa,  you  said  so 
yourself" 


74  '         Numa  Roumestan. 

"  Yes,  yes,  little  sister,  you  are  right ;  we  must 
certainly  go." 

Aunt  Portal  in  a  towering  rage  said  that  she 
could  not  understand  how  a  man  like  her  nephew, 
a  deputy,  could  put  himself  out  for  peasants,  farm- 
ers, whose  people  from  father  to  son  had  made 
music  for  the  villages.  Then,  in  her  usual  spirit 
of  mimicry,  she  stuck  out  a  disdainful  lip  and 
played  with  the  fingers  of  one  hand  on  an  imagin- 
ary fife,  while  with  the  other  she  beat  upon  the 
table  to  represent  the  tabor,  taking  off  the  tabor- 
player's  gestures. 

"  Nice  people  to  take  ladies  to  see  !  No  one  but 
Numa  would  dream  of  doing  such  a  thing.  Call- 
ing on  the  Valmajours  !  Holy  mother  of  angels  !  " 
And  becoming  more  and  more  excited,  she  accused 
them  of  crimes  enough  to  make  them  out  a  brood 
of  monsters  as  bloody  and  dreadful  as  the  Tres- 
taillon  family,  when  suddenly  across  the  table  she 
caught  the  eye  of  her  butler  M^nicle,  who  came 
from  the  same  village  as  the  Valmajours  and  was 
listening  to  her  lies,  every  feature  strained  in 
astonishment.  At  once  she  shouted  to  him  in  a 
terrible  voice  to  "  go  and  change  himself  quickly  " 
and  have  the  landau  at  the  door  at  "■  two  o'clock 
a  quarter  off."  All  the  rages  of  Aunt  Portal  ended 
in  this  fashion. 

Hortense  threw  down  her  napkin  and  ran  and 
kissed  the  old  lady  rapturously  on  her  fat  cheeks. 
She  was  in  a  tumult  of  gayety  and  bounded  for 
joy: 

"  Come,  Rosalie,  let  us  hurry !  " 


A  Southern  Aunt,  75 

Aunt  Portal  looked  at  her  niece : 

"  Well,  I  hope,  Rosalie,  that  you  are  not  going 
to  vagabondize  with  these  feather-heads !  " 

**  No,  no,  aunt,  I  will  stay  with  you  "  answered 
Rosalie,  amused  at  the  character  of  elderly  relative 
that  her  unvarying  amiability  and  resignation  had 
created  for  her  in  that  house. 

At  the  right  moment  the  carriage  came  promptly 
to  the  door,  but  they  sent  it  on  ahead,  telling  Menicle 
to  wait  for  them  at  the  amphitheatre  square,  and 
R.oumestan  set  out  on  foot  with  his  little  sister  on 
his  arm,  full  of  curiosity  and  pride  at  seeing  Aps 
in  his  company,  to  visit  the  house  in  which  he  was 
born  and  to  retrace  with  him  the  streets  through 
which  he  had  so  often  walked  when  a  child. 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  midday  rest.  The  whole 
town  slept,  silent  and  deserted,  rocked  by  the  south 
wind  blowing  in  great  fanlike  gusts,  cooling  and 
freshening  the  fierce  Provencal  summer  heat,  but 
making  walking  difficult,  especially  along  the 
Corso,  which  offered  no  resistance  to  it,  where  it 
roared  round  the  little  city  with  the  bellowings 
of  a  loosened  bull.  Hortense,  with  her  head  down, 
her  hands  tightly  clasped  about  her  brother's  arm, 
out  of  breath  and  bewildered,  enjoyed  the  sensa- 
tion of  being  raised  and  borne  along  by  the  gusts 
which  were  like  resistless  waves,  noisy  and  com- 
plaining, white  with  foamlike  dust.  Sometimes 
they  had  to  stop  and  cling  to  the  ropes  stretched 
along  the  ramparts  for  use  on  windy  days.  Owing 
to  the  whirlwinds  in  which  bits  of  bark  and  plane- 
tree  seeds  spun  round,  and  owing  to  its  solitude 


76  Numa  Roumestan. 

the  Corso  had  an  air  of  distress  in  its  wide  desola- 
tion, still  soiled  as  it  was  with  the  remains  of  the 
recent  market,  strewn  with  melon-rinds,  straw  litters, 
empty  casks,  as  if  the  mistral  alone  had  charge  of 
the  street  cleaning. 

Roumestan  was  anxious  to  reach  the  carriage  as 
soon  as  possible,  but  Hortense  enjoyed  this  battle 
with  the  hurricane  and  insisted  on  walking  farther, 
panting  and  overborne  by  the  gust  that  curled  her 
blue  veil  three  times  around  her  hat  and  molded 
her  short  walking  skirt  against  her  figure  as  she 
walked.     She  was  saying : 

"  It  is  queer  how  different  people  are !  Rosalie, 
now,  hates  the  wind.  She  says  it  blows  away  all 
her  ideas,  keeps  her  from  thinking.  Now  me  the 
wind  excites,  intoxicates !  " 

**  So  it  does  me !  "  said  Numa,  clinging  on  to  his 
hat,  his  eyes  full  of  water,  and  then  suddenly,  as 
they  turned  a  corner: 

"  Ah,  here  is  my  street  —  I  was  born  here." 

The  wind  was  going  down,  at  least  they  felt  it 
less ;  it  was  blowing  farther  away  with  a  sound  as 
of  billows  breaking  on  a  beach,  as  one  hears  them 
from  the  quiet  inner  bay.  The  street  was  a  largish 
one,  paved  with  pointed  stones,  without  sidewalks, 
and  the  house  an  insignificant  little  gray  structure 
standing  between  an  Ursuline  convent  shaded  with 
big  plane-trees  and  a  fine  old  seignorial  mansion 
on  which  was  carved  a  coat  of  arms  and  the  in- 
scription "  H6tel  de  Rochemaure."  Opposite  stood 
a  very  old  and  characterless  building  with  broken 
columns,  defaced   statues   and    grave-stones  with 


A  Southern  Aiint.  77 

Roman  inscriptions  carved  on  them ;  it  had  the 
word  '*  Academy "  in  faded  gilt  letters  over  a 
green  door. 

In  that  little  gray  house  the  great  orator  first 
saw  the  light  on  the  15th  of  July,  1832;  it  was 
easy  to  draw  more  than  one  parallel  between  his 
narrow,  classical  talent  and  his  education  as  a 
Catholic  and  a  Legitimist,  and  that  little  house  of 
needy  citizens  with  a  convent  on  one  side  and  a 
seignorial  residence  on  the  other,  and  a  provincial 
academy  in  front  of  it. 

Roumestan  was  filled  with  emotion,  as  he  always 
was  over  anything  concerning  himself.  He  had 
not  visited  this  spot  for  perhaps  thirty  years;  it 
needed  the  whim  of  this  young  girl  to  bring  him 
here.  He  was  much  struck  with  the  immutability 
of  things.  He  recognized  in  the  wall  a  shutter- 
catch  that  his  childish  hand  had  turned  and  played 
with  every  morning  as  he  passed  on  his  way  up 
the  street.  The  columns  and  precious  torsos  of 
the  academy  threw  their  shadows  on  the  same  spot 
as  of  old.  The  rose-laurel  bushes  had  the  same 
spicy  odor  and  he  showed  Hortense  the  narrow 
window  where  his  mother  had  sat  and  signed 
to  him  to  hurry  when  he  came  from  the  friars' 
school: 

"  Come  up  quickly,  father  has  come  in !  "  His 
father  did  not  like  to  be  kept  waiting. 

"Tell  me,  Numa,  is  it  really  true?  were  you 
really  educated  by  the  friars  }  " 

"■  Yes,  little  sister,  until  I  was  twelve  years  old, 
and  then  Aunt  Portal  sent  me  to  the  Assumption, 


78  Numa  Roumestan, 

the  most  fashionable  boarding-school  in  the  town ; 
but  it  was  the  Ignorantins  over  there  in  that  big 
barrack  with  yellow  shutters  who  taught  me  to 
read." 

As  he  called  to  mind  the  pail  of  brine  under  the 
Brother's  chair  in  which  were  soaked  the  straps 
with  which  they  beat  the  boys,  to  make  the  pain 
greater,  he  shuddered ;  he  remembered  the  large 
paved  class-room  where  they  were  made  to  say 
their  lessons  on  their  knees  and  had  to  crawl  up 
holding  out  their  hands  to  be  punished  on  the 
slightest  pretext ;  he  recalled  how  the  Brother  in 
his  shabby  black  gown  stood  stiff  and  rigid,  with 
his  habit  rolled  up  beneath  his  arm,  the  better  to 
strike  his  pitiless  blow^s  —  Brother  Crust-to-cook, 
as  he  was  called,  because  he  was  the  cook.  He 
remembered  how  the  dear  Brother  cried  *'ha!" 
and  how  his  little  inky  fingers  tingled  with  the  pain 
as  if  ants  werQ  biting  them.  As  Hortense  cried 
aloud  in  dismay  at  the  brutality  of  such  punish- 
ments, he  related  others  still  more  dreadful ;  for 
example,  they  were  obliged  to  clean  the  freshly 
watered  pavements  with  their  tongues,  the  dust 
and  water  making  a  muddy  subtance  that  injured 
the  tender  palates  of  the  naughty  children. 

"  It  is  shameful !  and  you  defend  such  people 
and  speak  in  their  favor  in  the  Chamber?" 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  that  is  politics  !  "  said  Roumestan 
calmly. 

As  they  talked  they  were  threading  a  labyrinth 
of  small,  dingy  streets,  almost  oriental  in  their  char- 
acter, where  old  women  lay  asleep  on  their  door- 


A  Southern  AunL  79 

steps,  and  other  streets,  though  not  so  sombre, 
where  long  pieces  of  printed  calicoes  fluttered  in 
explanation  of  signboards  on  which  were  painted : 
'^Haberdashery,"  ''Shoes,"  "Silks." 

Thence  they  came  out  on  what  was  called  in 
Aps  the  "  Little  Square,"  with  its  asphalt  melting 
in  the  hot  sun  and  surrounded  by  shops,  at  this 
hour  closed  and  silent,  in  the  narrow  shadow  of 
whose  walls  boot-blacks  slept  peacefully,  their 
heads  resting  on  their  boxes,  their  limbs  stretched 
out  Hke  those  of  drowned  people,  wrecks  of  the* 
tempest  that  has  just  swept  over  the  town.  An 
unfinished  monument  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
little  square.  Hortense  wished  to  know  what  was 
ultimately  to  be  the  statue  placed  upon  it  and 
Roumestan  smiled  in  an  embarrassed  way. 

"  It  is  a  long  story !  "  he  answered,  hurrying  on. 

The  town  of  Aps  had  voted  a  statue  to  Numa, 
but  the  Liberals  of  the  "  Vanguard  "  had  strongly 
disapproved  of  this  apotheosis  of  a  living  man  and 
so  his  friends  had  not  dared  to  go  on  with  it.  The 
statue  was  all  ready,  but  now  probably  they  would 
wait  for  his  death  before  raising  it.  Surely  it 's  a 
glorious  thought  that  after  your  funeral  you  will 
have  civic  recognition  and  that  you  die  only  to 
rise  again  in  bronze  or  marble ;  but  this  empty 
pedestal  shining  in  the  sun  seemed  to  Roumestan, 
whenever  he  passed  it,  as  gloomy  as  a  majestic 
family  vault;  it  was  not  until  they  had  reached 
the  amphitheatre  that  he  could  dispel  his  funereal 
thoughts. 

The  old  structure,  divested  of  its  Sunday  cheer- 


8o  Numa  Roumestan. 

fulness  and  returned  to  its  solemnity  of  a  great  and 
useless  ruin,  seemed  damp  and  cheerless  as  it 
loomed  darkly  against  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
with  its  dark  corridors  and  floors  caved  in  here  and 
there  and  stones  crumbling  beneath  the  footsteps 
of  the  centuries. 

''  How  dreadfully  sad  it  is !  "  said  Hortense,  re- 
gretting the  music  of  Valmajour's  fife;  but  to 
Numa  it  did  not  seem  sad.  His  happiest  days  had 
been  passed  there  —  his  childish  days  with  all  their 
pleasures  and  longings.  Oh,  the  Sundays  at  the 
bull-fights,  prowling  around  the  gates  with  other 
poor  children  who  lacked  ten  sous  to  pay  for  their' 
tickets !  In  the  hot  afternoon  sun  they  crawled 
into  some  corner  where  a  glimpse  of  the  arena 
could  be  obtained.  What  pleasures  of  forbidden 
fruits !  —  the  red-stockinged  legs  of  the  bull-fighters, 
the  wrathful  hoofs  of  the  bull,  the  dust  of  the  combat 
rising  from  the  arena  amid  the  cries  of  ''  Bravo  !  " 
and  the  bellowings  and  the  roar  of  the  multitude ! 
The  yearning  to  get  inside  was  not  to  be  resisted. 
While  the  sentinel's  back  was  turned  the  bravest 
of  them  would  wriggle  through  the  iron  bars  with 
a  little  effort. 

"  I  always  got  through !  "  said  Roumestan  in 
ecstasy.  The  history  of  his  whole  life  was  ex- 
pressed in  those  few  words.  By  chance  or  by 
cleverness  —  no  matter  how  close  were  the  bars  — 
the  Southerner  always  wriggled  through. 

**  I  was  thinner  in  those  days,  all  the  same,"  he 
said  with  a  sigh  and  he  looked  with  comic  regret 
at  the  narrow  bars  of  the  grille  and  then  at  his  big 


A  Southern  Aunt  8i 

white  waistcoat,  within  which  lay  the  solid  sign  of 
his  forty  years. 

Behind  the  enormous  amphitheatre  they  found 
the  carriage,  safely  harbored  from  wind  and 
sun.  They  had  to  wake  up  Menicle,  who  was 
sleeping  peacefully  on  the  box  between  two  large 
baskets  of  provisions,  wrapped  in  his  heavy  cloak 
of  royal  blue.  But  before  getting  in  Numa  pointed 
out  to  Hortense  an  old  inn  at  a  distance  whose  sign 
read :  "  To  the  Little  St.  John,  coach  and  express 
office,"  the  whitewashed  front  and  large  open  sheds 
of  which  took  up  one  whole  corner  of  the  square. 
In  these  sheds  were  ancient  stage-coaches  and 
rural  chaises  long  unused,  covered  with  dust, 
their  shafts  raised  high  in  air  from  beneath  their 
gray  covers. 

*'  Look  there,  little  sister,"  he  cried  with  emotion. 
*'  It  was  from  this  spot  that  I  set  out  for  Paris  one- 
and-twenty  years  ago.  There  was  no  railway  then  ; 
we  went  by  coach  as  far  as  Montelimar,  then  up 
the  Rh6ne.  Heavens,  how  happy  I  was  !  and  how 
your  big  Paris  frightened  me  !  It  was  evening —  I 
remember  it  so  well.  .  ." 

He  spoke  quickly,  reminiscences  crowding  each 
other  in  his  mind. 

"  The  evening,  ten  o'clock,  in  November,  beauti- 
ful moonlight.  The  guard's  name  was  Fouque,  a 
great  person  !  While  he  was  harnessing  we  walked 
about  with  Bompard  —  yes,  Bompard  —  you  know 
we  were  already  great  friends.  He  was,  or  thought 
he  was,  studying  for  a  druggist  and  meant  to  join 
me  in   Paris.     We   made    many   plans  for   living 

6 


82  Numa  Roumestan. 

together  and  helping  each  other  along  in  the  world 
to  get  ahead  quicker  —  in  the  meantime  he  en- 
couraged me,  gave  me  good  advice  —  he  was 
older  than  I.  My  great  bugbear  was  the  fear  of 
being  ridiculous  —  Aunt  Portal  had  ordered  for 
me  a  travelling  wrap  called  a  Raglan;  I  was  a 
little  dubious  about  that  Raglan,  so  Bompard  made 
me  put  it  on  and  walk  before  him  in  it.  Te !  I 
can  see  yet  my  shadow  beside  me  as  I  walked,  and 
gravely,  with  that  knowing  air  he  has,  he  said  : 
'That  is  all  right,  old  boy;  you  don't  look  ridicu- 
lous.' —  Ah,  youth,  youth  !  " 

Hortense,  who  was  beginning  to  fear  that  they 
should  never  get  away  from  this  town  where  every 
stone  was  eloquent  of  reminiscences  for  the  great 
man,  led  the  way  gently  towards  the  carriage. 

**Let  us  get  in,  Numa.  We  can  talk  just  as  well 
as  we  drive  along." 


Valmajour,  83 


CHAPTER  V. 

VALMAJOUR. 

It  takes  hardly  more  than  two  hours  to  drive 
from  Aps  to  Cordova  Mountain  provided  the  wind 
is  astern.  Drawn  by  the  two  old  horses  from 
the  Camargue,  the  carriage  went  almost  by  itself, 
propelled  by  the  mistral  which  shook  and  rattled 
it,  beating  on  its  leather  hood  and  curtains  or 
blowing  them  out  like  sails. 

Out  here  it  did  not  bellow  any  more  as  it  did 
round  the  ramparts  and  through  the  vaulted  pas- 
sages of  the  town  ;  but,  free  of  all  obstacles,  driv- 
ing before  it  the  great  plain  itself,  where  a  solitary 
farm  and  some  peasant  manses  here  and  there, 
forming  gray  spots  in  the  green  landscape,  seemed 
the  scattering  of  a  village  by  the  storm,  the  wind 
passed  in  the  form  of  smoke  before  the  sky,  and 
like  sudden  dashes  of  surf  over  the  tall  wheat  and 
olive  orchards,  whose  silvery  leaves  it  made  to 
flutter  like  a  swarm  of  butterflies.  Then  with  sud- 
den rebounds  that  raised  in  blond  masses  the  dust 
that  crackled  under  the  wheels  it  fell  upon  the 
files  of  closely  pressed  cypresses  and  the  Spanish 
reeds  with  their  long  rustling  leaves,  which  made 
one  feel  that  there  wis  a  river  flowing  beside  the 
road.     When  for  one    moment   it   stopped,    as  if 


84  Numa  Roumestan, 

short  of  breath,  one  felt  all  the  weight  of  summer ; 
then  a  truly  African  heat  rose  from  the  earth, 
which  was  soon  driven  off  by  the  wholesome,  re- 
vivifying hurricane,  extending  its  jovial  dance  to  the 
very  farthest  point  on  the  horizon,  to  those  little 
dull,  grayish  mounds  which  are  seen  on  the  hori- 
zon in  all  Provencal  landscapes,  but  which  the  sun- 
set turns  to  iridescent  tints  of  fairyland. 

They  did  not  meet  many  people.  An  occasional 
huge  wagon  from  the  quarries  filled  with  hewn 
stones,  blinding  in  the  sunlight;  an  old  peasant 
woman  from  Ville-des-Baux  bending  under  a  great 
couffin  or  basket  of  sweet-smelling  herbs ;  the  robe 
of  a  medicant  friar  with  a  sack  on  his  back  and  a 
rosary  round  his  waist,  his  hard,  tonsured  head 
sweating  and  shining  like  a  Durance  pebble ;  or 
else  a  group  of  people  returning  from  a  pilgrimage, 
a  wagon-load  of  women  and  girls  in  holiday  attire, 
with  fine  black  eyes,  big  chignons  and  bright- 
colored  ribbons,  coming  from  Sainte  Baume  or 
Notre-Dame-de-Lumi^re.  Well,  the  mistral  gave 
to  all  these  people,  to  hard  labor,  to  wretchedness 
and  to  superstition  the  same  flow  of  health  and 
good  spirits,  gathering  up  and  scattering  again 
during  its  rushes  the  hymn  of  the  monk,  the 
shrill  canticles  of  the  pilgrims,  the  bells  and  jin- 
gling blue  glass  beads  of  the  horses  and  the  "  Dia  ! 
hue!''  of  the  carters,  as  well  as  the  popular  refrain 
that  Numa,  intoxicated  by  the  breeze  of  his  native 
land,  poured  forth  with  all  the  power  of  his  lungs 
and  with  wide  gesticulations  that  were  waved  from 
both  the  carriage  doors  at  once : 


Valmajour,  85 

"  Beau  soleil  de  la  Provence, 
Gai  cotnpere  du  jnisiralf  " 
(Splendid  sun  of  old  Provence, 
Of  the  mislral  comrade  gay  !  ) 

Suddenly  he  cried  to  the  coachman  :  **  Here  ! 
Menicle,  Menicle ! " 

"  Monsieur  Numa?  " 

"  What  is  that  stone  building  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Rhdne?" 

"  That,  Monsieur  Numa,  is  the  jonjon  of  Queen 
Jeanne." 

'*  Oh,  yes,  that 's  so  —  I  remember ;  poor  jo7i- 
jon  !  Its  name  is  as  much  of  a  ruin  as  the  tower 
itself!" 

And  then  he  told  Hortense  the  story  of  the 
royal  dungeon,  for  he  was  thoroughly  grounded  in 
his  native  legends. 

That  ruined  and  rusty  tower  up  there  dated 
from  the  time  of  the  Saracen  invasion,  although 
more  modern  than  the  ruin  of  the  abbey  near  it,  a 
bit  of  whose  half  crumbled  wall  still  remained 
standing  near  at  hand,  with  its  row  of  narrow  win- 
dows showing  against  the  sky  and  its  big  ogival 
doorway.  He  showed  her,  against  the  rocky  slope, 
a  worn  pathway  leading  to  a  pond  that  shone  like 
a  cup  of  crystal,  where  the  monks  used  to  go  to 
fish  for  eels  and  carp  for  the  table  of  the  abbot. 
As  they  looked  at  the  lovely  spot  Numa  remarked 
that  the  men  of  God  had  always  known  how  to 
select  the  choicest  spots  in  which  to  pass  their  com- 
fortable, restful  lives,  generally  choosing  the  sum- 
mits where  they  might  soar  and  dream,  but  whence 


86  Numa  Roumeslan. 

they  descended  upon  the  quiet  valleys  and  levied 
their  toll  on  all  the  good  things  from  the  surround- 
ing villages. 

Oh,  Provence  in  the  Middle  Ages  !  land  of  the 
troubadours  and  courts  of  beauty !  , 

Now  briers  dislocate  the  stones  of  the  terraces 
erstwhile  swept  by  the  trains  of  courtly  beauties  — 
Stephenettes  or  Azalai'ses — while  ospreys  and 
owls  scream  at  night  in  the  place  where  the  dead 
and  gone  troubadours  used  to  sing!  But  was 
there  not  still  a  perfume  of  delicate  beauty,  a 
charming  Italian  coquetry  pervading  this  landscape 
of  the  Alpilles,  like  the  quiver  of  a  lute  or  viol 
floating  through  the  pure,  still  air? 

Numa  grew  excited,  forgetting  that  he  had  only 
his  sister-in-law  and  old  Menicle's  blue  cloak  for 
audience,  and,  after  a  few  commonplaces  fit  for 
local  banquets  and  meetings  of  the  Academy, 
broke  forth  into  one  of  those  ingenious  and  brilliant 
impromptus  that  proved  him  to  be  indeed  the 
descendant  of  the  light  Provencal  troubadours. 

"  There  is  Valmajour  !  "  said  Menicle  all  at  once, 
pointing  upwards  with  his  whip  as  he  leaned  round 
on  the  box. 

They  had  left  the  highroad  and  were  climbing  a 
zigzag  path  up  the  side  of  Cordova  Mountain, 
narrow  and  slippery  with  the  lavender  whose  fra- 
grance filled  the  air  with  a  smell  of  burnt  incense 
as  the  carriage  wheels  passed.  On  a  plateau  half 
way  up,  at  the  foot  of  a  black,  dilapidated  tower, 
the  roofs  of  the  farmstead  could  be  seen.  Here  it 
was  that  for  years  and  years  the  Valmajours  had 


Valmajour,  Z"] 

lived,  from  father  td  son,  on  the  site  of  the  old 
chateau  whose  name  abided  with  them.  And  who 
knows?  perhaps  these  peasants  really  were  the 
descendants  of  the  princes  of  Valmajour,  related 
to  the  counts  of  Provence  and  to  the  house  of 
Baux.  This  idea,  imprudently  expressed  by  Rou- 
mestan,  was  eagerly  taken  up  by  Hortense,  who 
thus  accounted  to  herself  for  the  really  high-bred 
manners  of  the  taborist. 

As  they  conversed  in  the  carriage  on  the  subject 
Menicle  listened  to  their  talk  in  amazement  from 
his  box.  The  name  of  Valmajour  was  common 
enough  in  the  province ;  there  were  mountain  Val- 
majours  and  Valmajours  of  the  valley,  according 
as  they  dwelt  on  upland  or  on  plain.  "  So  they 
are  all  noblemen !  "  he  wondered.  But  the  astute 
Provencal  kept  his  thoughts  on  the  subject  to 
himself. 

As  they  advanced  further  into  this  desolate  but 
beautiful  landscape  the  imagination  of  the  young 
girl,  excited  by  Numa's  animated  conversation,  gave 
free  vent  to  its  romantic  impressions,  stimulated 
by  the  brightly-colored  fantasies  of  the  past ;  and 
looking  upward  and  seeing  a  peasant  woman  sit- 
ting on  a  buttress  of  the  ruined  tower,  watching 
the  approach  of  the  strangers,  her  face  in  profile, 
her  hand  shading  her  eyes  from  the  sun,  she 
imagined  she  saw  some  princess  wearing  the 
mediaeval  wimple  gazing  down  upon  them  from 
her  feudal  tower  —  like  an  illustration  in  an  old 
book. 

The  illusion  was  hardly  dispelled  when,  on  leav- 


88  Numa  Roumestan, 

ing  the  carnage,  they  saw  before  them  the  sister  of 
the  taborist,  who  was  making  willow  screens  for 
silk  worms.  She  did  not  rise,  although  Menicle 
had  shouted  to  her  from  a  distance :  ''  Ve  !  Audi- 
berte,  here  are  visitors  for  your  brother !  "  Her 
face  with  its  delicate,  regular  features,  long  and 
green  as  an  unripe  olive,  expressed  neither  pleas- 
ure nor  surprise,  but  kept  the  concentrated  look 
that  brought  the  heavy  black  eyebrows  together  in 
front  and  seemed  to  tie  a  knot  below  her  obstinate 
brows,  as  if  with  a  hard,  fixed  line.  Numa,  some- 
what taken  aback  by  this  frigid  reception,  said 
hastily :  *'  I  am  Numa  Roumestan,  the  deputy  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  who  you  are  well  enough,"  she 
answered  gravely,  and  throwing  down  her  work  in 
a  heap  by  her  side :  *'  Come  in  a  moment,  my 
brother  will  be  here  presently." 

"When  she  stood  up  their  hostess  lost  her  impos- 
ing appearance ;  short  of  stature,  with  a  large  bust, 
she  walked  with  an  ungraceful  waddle  that  spoiled 
the  effect  of  her  pretty  head  charmingly  set  off  by 
the  little  Aries  head-dress  and  the  picturesque  fichu 
of  white  muslin  with  its  bluish  shadow  in  every 
fold  which  she  wore  over  her  shoulders.  She  led 
her  guests  into  the  house.  This  peasant's  cottage, 
leaning  up  against  its  ruined  tower,  seemed  to 
have  imbibed  a  distinguished  air,  with  its  coat-of- 
arms  in  stone  over  a  door  shaded  by  an  awning  of 
reeds  cracked  by  the  heat  of  the  sun  and  its  big 
curtain  of  checked  muslin  stretched  across  the 
door  to  keep  out  the  mosquitoes.  The  old  guard- 
room, with  its  ceiling  riddled  by  cracks,  its  tall, 


Valmajour,  89 

ancient  chimneypiece  and  its  white  walls,  was 
lighted  only  by  small  green-glass  windows  and  the 
curtain  stretched  across  the  door. 

In  the  dim  Hght  could  be  seen  the  black  wooden 
kneading-trough,  shaped  like  a  sarcophagus,  carved 
with  designs  of  wheat  and  flowers ;  over  it  hung 
the  open-work  wicker  bread-basket,  ornamented 
with  little  Moorish  bells,  in  which  the  bread  is  kept 
fresh  in  Provencal  farm-houses.  Two  or  three 
sacred  images,  the  Virgin,  Saint  Martha  and  the 
iarasque,  a  small  red  copper  lamp  of  antique  form 
hanging  from  the  beak  of  a  mocking-bird  carved 
in  white  wood  by  one  of  the  shepherds,  and  on 
each  side  of  the  fireplace  the  salt  and  the  flour 
boxes,  completed  the  furniture  of  the  big  room, 
not  forgetting  a  large  sea-shell,  with  which  they 
called  the  cattle  home,  ghttering  on  the  mantel- 
piece above  the  hearth. 

A  long  table  ran  lengthwise  through  the  hall, 
on  each  side  of  which  were  benches  and  stools. 
From  the  ceiling  hung  strings  of  onions  black  with 
flies,  that  buzzed  loudly  whenever  the  door  curtain 
was  raised. 

"Take  a  seat,  sir  —  a  seat,  madame;  you  must 
share  the  grand  boire  with  us." 

The  grand  boire  or  "  big  drink  "  is  the  lunch  par- 
taken of  wherever  the  peasants  are  working  —  out 
in  the  fields,  under  the  trees,  in  the  shade  of  a  mill, 
or  in  a  roadside  ditch.  But  the  Valmajours  took 
theirs  in  the  house,  as  they  were  at  work  near  by. 
The  table  was  already  laid  with  little  yellow 
earthen  dishes  in  which  were   pickled  olives  and 


90  Numa  Roumestan, 

romaine  salad  shining  with  oil.  In  the  willpw 
stand  where  the  bottles  and  glasses  are  kept  Numa 
thought  he  saw  some  wine.     , 

"  So  you  still  have  vineyards  up  here?  "  he  asked 
smilingly,  trying  to  ingratiate  himself  with  this 
queer  little  savage.  But  at  the  word  '*  vineyards  " 
she  sprang  to  her  feet  like  a  goat  bitten  by  an  asp, 
and  in  a  moment  her  voice  struck  the  full  note  of 
indignation.  Vines  !  oh,  yes  !  nice  luck  they  had 
had  with  their  vineyards !  Out  of  five  only  one 
was  left  to  them  —  the  smallest  one,  too,  and  that 
they  had  to  keep  under  water  half  the  year, — 
water  from  the  roubine  at  that,  costing  them  their 
last  sou  !  And  all  that  —  who  was  to  blame  for  it? 
the  Reds,  those  swine,  those  monsters,  the  Reds 
and  their  godless  republic,  that  had  let  loose  all 
the  devils  of  hell  upon  the  country  ! 

As  she  spoke  in  this  passionate  manner  her  eyes 
grew  blacker  with  the  murky  look  of  an  assassin ; 
her  pretty  face  was  all  convulsed  and  disfigured, 
her  mouth  was  distorted  and  her  black  eyebrows 
made  with  their  knot  a  big  lump  in  the  middle  of 
her  brow.  The  strangest  of  all  was  that  in  spite 
of  her  fury  she  continued  her  peaceful  avocations, 
making  the  coffee,  blowing  the  fire,  coming  and 
going,  gesticulating  with  whatever  was  in  her 
hand,  the  bellows  or  the  coffee-pot,  or  a  blazing 
brand  of  vine-wood  from  the  fire,  which  she  brand- 
ished like  the  torch  of  a  Fury.  Suddenly  she 
calmed  down. 

"  Here  is  my  brother,"  she  said. 

The  rustic  curtain,  brushed  aside,  let  in  a  flood  of 


Valmajour,  91 

white  sunlight  against  which  appeared  the  tall  form 
of  Valmajour,  followed  by  a  little  old  man  with  a 
smooth  face,  sunburned  until  it  was  as  black  and 
gnarled  as  the  root  of  a  diseased  vine.  Neither 
father  nor  son  showed  any  more  excitement  at  the 
sight  of  the  visitors  than  Audiberte. 

The  first  greeting  over,  they  seated  themselves 
at  the  table,  on  which  had  been  spread  the  con- 
tents of  the  two  baskets  that  Roumestan  had 
brought  in  the  carriage,  at  sight  of  which  the  eyes 
of  old  Valmajour  shone  with  little  joyous  sparkles. 
Roumestan,  who  could  not  recover  from  the  want 
of  enthusiasm  about  himself  shown  by  these  peas- 
ants, began  at  once  to  speak  of  the  great  success 
on  the  Sunday  at  the  amphitheatre.  That  must 
have  made  him  proud  of  his  son ! 

*'  Yes,  yes,"  mumbled  the  old  man,  spearing  his 
olives  with  his  knife.  "  But  I  too  in  my  time  used 
to  get  prizes  myself  for  my  tabor-playing  "  —  and 
he  smiled  the  same  wicked  smile  that  had  played 
on  his  daughter's  lips  in  her  recent  gust  of  temper. 
Very  peaceful  just  now,  Audiberte  sat  upon  the 
hearthstone  with  her  plate  upon  her  knees ;  for, 
although  she  was  the  mistress  of  the  house  and  a 
very  tyrannical  one  at  that,  she  still  obeyed  the  an- 
cient Provengal  custom  that  did  not  allow  the 
women  to  sit  at  the  table  and  eat  with  their  men. 
But  from  that  humble  spot  she  listened  attentively 
all  the  while  to  what  they  were  saying  and  shook 
her  head  when  they  spoke  of  the  festival  at  the 
amphitheatre.  She  did  not  care  for  the  tabor,  her- 
self—  nani!  no  indeed!     Her  mother   had  been 


g2  Numa  Roumestan, 

killed  by  the  bad  blood  her  father's  love  for  it  had 
occasioned.  It  was  a  profession,  look  you,  fit  for 
drunkards;  it  kept  people  from  profitable  work 
and  cost  more  money  than  it  made. 

"•  Well  then,  let  him  come  to  Paris,"  said  Rou- 
mestan.  **  Take  my  word  for  it,  his  tabor  will  coin 
money  for  him  there.  .  .  ." 

Spurred  on  by  the  utter  incredulity  of  the  coun- 
try girl,  he  tried  to  make  her  understand  how  ca- 
pricious Paris  was  and  how  the  city  would  pay 
almost  anything  to  gratify  its  whims.  He  told  her 
of  the  success  of  old  Mathurin,  who  used  to  play 
the  bagpipes  at  the  "  Closerie  des  Genets,"  and 
how  inferior  were  the  Breton  bagpipes,  coarse  and 
shrieking,  fit  only  for  Esquimaux  in  the  Polar  Cir- 
cle to  dance  to,  when  compared  with  the  tabor  of 
Provence,  so  pretty,  so  delicate  and  high-bred ! 
He  could  tell  them  that  all  the  Parisian  women 
would  go  wild  over  it  and  all  wish  to  dance  the 
farandole,  Hortense  also  grew  excited  and  put  in 
her  oar,  while  the  taborist  smiled  vaguely  and 
twirled  his  brown  moustache  with  the  fatuous  air 
of  a  lady-killer. 

"  Well  now,  come !  Give  me  an  idea  what  he 
would  earn  by  his  music !  "  cried  the  .peasant  girl. 
Roumestan  thought  a  moment.  He  could  not  say 
precisely.  One  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred 
francs  — 

"A  month?"  quoth  the  old  man  excitedly. 

**  Heavens  !  no  —  a  day  !  " 

The  three  peasants  started  and  then  looked  at 
erach  other.      From   any  one   else  but   M.  Numa 


ValmajoMV,  93 

the  deputy,  member  of  the  General  Council,  they 
would  have  suspected  a  joke,  a  galejade  I  But 
with  him  of  course  the  matter  was  serious.  Two 
hundred  francs  a  day — f outre  !  The  musician 
himself  wished  to  go  at  once,  but  his  more  prudent 
sister  would  have  Hked  to  draw  up  a  paper  for 
Roumestan  to  sign ;  and  then  quietly,  with  lowered 
eyelids,  that  the  money  greed  in  her  eyes  might 
not  be  seen,  she  began  to  canvass  the  matter  in 
her  hypocritical  voice. 

Valmajour  was  so  much  needed  at  home,  pe- 
ca'ire  !  He  took  care  of  the  property,  ploughed, 
dressed  the  vines,  his  father  being  too  old  now  for 
such  work.  What  should  they  do  if  her  brother 
went  away?  And  he  —  he  would  be  sure  to  be 
homesick  alone  in  Paris,  and  his  money,  his  two 
hundred  francs  a  day,  who  would  take  care  of  it  in 
that  awful  great  city?  And  her  voice  hardened 
as  she  spoke  of  money  that  she  could  not  take 
care  of  and  stow  carefully  away  in  her  most  secret 
drawer. 

"  Well,"  said  Roumestan,  '*  come  to  Paris  with 
him." 

"And  the  house?" 

"  Leave  it  or  sell  it.  You  can  buy  a  much  bet- 
ter one  when  you  come  back." 

He  hesitated  as  Hortense  glanced  warningly  at 
him,  and,  as  if  remorseful  for  disturbing  the  quiet 
life  of  these  simple  people,  he  said : 

"  After  all,  there  is  a  great  deal  besides  money 
in  this  life.     You  are  lucky  enough  as  you  are." 

Audiberte  interrupted  him  sharply:    "Lucky? 


94 


Numa  Roumesfan. 


Existence  is  a  struggle;  things  are  not  as  they 
used  to  be  !  "  —  and  she  began  again  to  whine  about 
the  vineyards,  the  silk-worms,  the  madder,  the 
vermilion  and  all  the  other  vanished  riches  of  the 
country.  Nowadays  one  had  to  work  in  the  sun 
like  cart-horses.  It  is  true  that  they  expected  to 
inherit  the  fortune  of  Cousin  Puyfourcat,  the  colo- 
nist in  Algiers,  but  Algeria  is  so  far  away;  and 
then  the  astute  little  peasant,  in  order  to  warm 
Numa  up,  whom  she  reproached  herself  for  caus- 
ing to  lose  some  of  his  enthusiasm  on  the  subject, 
turned  in  a  catty  way  to  her  brother  and  said  in 
her  coaxing,  singsong  voice  : 

"  Qu^,  Valmajour  !  suppose  you  play  something 
for  the  pleasure  of  the  pretty  young  lady." 

Ah,  clever  girl !  she  was  not  mistaken.  At  the 
first  blow  of  the  stick,  at  the  first  pearly  notes  of 
the  fife  Roumestan  was  trapped  once  more  and 
went  into  raptures. 

The  musician  leaned  against  the  curb  of  an  old 
well  in  front  of  the  farmhouse  door.  Over  the 
well  was  an  iron  frame,  round  which  a  wild  fig- 
tree  had  wound  itself  and  made  a  marvellously 
picturesque  background  for  his  handsome  figure 
and  swarthy  face.  With  his  bare  arms,  his  dusty, 
toil-worn  garments,  his  uncovered  sun-browned 
breast,  he  looked  nobler  and  prouder  than  he  had 
appeared  when  in  the  arena,  where  his  natural  grace 
had  a  somewhat  tawdry  touch  through  a  certain 
striving  after  theatrical  effect.  The  old  airs  that 
he  played  on  his  rustic  instrument,  made  poetic  by 
the  solitude  and  silence  of  the  mountains  and  wak- 


Valmajour.  95 

ing  the  ancient  golden  ruins  from  their  slumbers 
in  stone,  floated  like  skylarks  round  the  slopes  all 
gray  with  lavender  or  checkered  with  wheat  and 
dead  vines  and  mulberry-trees  with  their  broad 
leaves  casting  longer  but  lighter  shadows  on  the 
grass  at  their  feet.  The  wind  had  gone  down. 
The  setting  sun  played  upon  the  violet  line  of  the 
Alpilles  and  poured  into  the  hollows  of  the  rocks 
a  very  mirage  of  lakes,  of  liquid  porphyry  and  of 
molten  gold. 

All  along  the  horizon  there  seemed  as  it  were 
a  luminous  vibration,  Hke  the  stretched  cords  of  a 
lyre,  to  which  the  song  of  the  crickets  and  the 
hum  of  the  tabor  furnished  the  sonorous  base. 
Silent  and  delighted,  Hortense,  seated  on  the  para- 
pet of  the  old  tower,  leaning  her  elbow  on  the 
fragment  of  a  broken  column  near  which  a  pome- 
granate grew,  listened  and  admired  while  she  let 
her  romantic  little  mind  wander,  filled  with  the 
legends  and  stories  that  Roumestan  had  told  her 
on  the  way  to  the  farm. 

She  pictured  to  herself  the  old  chateau  rising 
from  its  ruins,  its  towers  rebuilt,  its  gates  renewed, 
its  cloister-like  arches  peopled  with  lovely  women 
in  long-bodiced  gowns,  with  those  pale,  clear  com- 
plexions that  the  sun  cannot  injure.  She  herself 
was  a  princess  of  the  house  of  Baux  with  a  pretty 
name  of  some  saint  in  a  missal  and  the  musician 
who  was  giving  her  a  morning  greeting  was  also  a 
prince,  the  last  of  the  Valmajours,  dressed  in  the 
costume  of  a  peasant. 

**  Of  a  certes,  ywis,  the  song  once  finished,"  as 


96  Numa  Roumestan. 

the  chroniclers  of  the  courts  of  love  of  old  used 
to  say,  she  broke  from  the  tree  above  her  a  bunch 
of  pomegranate  blossoms  and  held  it  out  to  the 
musician  as  the  prize  won  by  his  playing.  He 
received  it  with  gallantry  and  wound  it  round  the 
strings  of  his  tabor. 


Cabinet  Minister  I  97 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CABINET  minister! 

Three  months  have  passed  since  that  expedition 
to  Mount  Cordova. 

Parliament  had  met  at  Versailles  in  a  deluge  of 
November  rain,  which  brought  the  low  cloudy 
sky  down  to  the  lakes  in  the  parks,  enveloped 
everything  in  mist  and  wrapped  the  two  Chambers 
in  a  dreary  dampness  and  darkness  ;  but  it  had 
done  nothing  to  cool  the  heat  of  political  hatreds. 
The  opening  was  stormy  and  threatening.  Train 
after  train  filled  with  deputies  and  senators  followed 
and  crossed  each  other,  hissing,  whistling,  splutter- 
ing, blowing  defiant  smoke  at  each  other  as  if 
animated  by  the  same  passions  and  intrigues 
they  were  carrying  through  the  torrents  of  rain. 
During  this  hour  in  the  train,  discussion  and  loud- 
voiced  conversation  prevail  above  all  the  tumult 
of  rushing  wheels  in  the  different  carriages,  as 
violently  and  furiously  as  if  they  were  in  the 
Chamber. 

The  noisiest,  the  most  excited  of  all  is  Roumes- 
tan.  He  has  already  delivered  himself  of  two 
speeches  since  Parliament  met.  He  addresses 
committees,  talks  in  the  corridors,  in  the  railway 
Station,  in  the  caf6,  and  makes  the  windows  tremble 

7 


gS  Numa  Roumestan, 

in  the  photographer's  shop  where  all  the  Rights 
assemble.  Little  else  is  seen  but  that  restless  out- 
line and  heavy  form,  his  big  head  always  in 
motion,  the  roll  of  his  broad  shoulders,  so  formid- 
able in  the  eyes  of  the  Ministry,  which  he  is 
about  to  "  down  "  according  to  all  the  rules,  like  one 
of  the  stoutest  and  most  supple  of  his  native 
Southern  wrestlers. 

Ah  !  the  blue  sky,  the  tabors,  the  cicadas,  all  the 
bright  pleasures  of  his  vacation  days  —  how^  far 
away  they  seem,  how  utterly  dislocated  and 
vanished  !  Numa  never  gives  them  a  moment's 
thought  nowadays,  entirely  carried  away  as  he  is^ 
by  the  whirl  of  his  double  life  as  politician  and 
man  of  the  law.  Like  his  old  master  Sagnier, 
when  he  went  into  politics  he  did  not  renounce  the 
law,  and  every  evening  from  six  o'clock  to  eight  his 
office  in  the  Rue  Scribe  is  thronged  with  clients. 

It  looked  like  a  legation,  this  office  managed 
by  Roumestan.  The  first  secretary,  his  right- 
hand  man,  his  counsellor  and  friend,  was  a  very 
good  legal  man  of  business  named  Mejean,  a 
Southerner,  as  were  all  Numa's  following;  but 
from  the  Cevennes,  the  rocky  region  of  the  South, 
which  is  more  like  Spain  than  Italy,  where  the 
inhabitants  have  retained  in  their  manners  and 
speech  the  prudent  reserve  and  level-headed 
common-sense  of  the  renowned  Sancho. 

Vigorous,  robust,  already  a  little  bald,  with  the 
sallow  complexion  of  sedentary  workers,  Mejean 
alone  did  all  the  work  of  the  office,  clearing  away 
papers,   preparing  speeches,   trying   to    reconcile 


Cabinet  Minister!  99 

facts  with  his  friend's  sonorous  phrases  —  some 
say  his  future  brother-in-law's.  The  other  secre- 
taries, Messieurs  de  Rochemaure  and  de  Lappara, 
two  young  graduates  related  to  the  noblest  fami- 
lies in  the  province,  are  only  there  for  show, 
in  training  for  political  life  under  Roumestan's 
guidance. 

Lappara,  a  handsome  tall  fellow  with  a  neat  leg, 
a  ruddy  complexion  and  a  blond  beard,  son  of  the 
old  Marquis  de  Lappara,  chief  of  the  Right  in  the 
Bordeaux  district,  is  a  fair  type  of  that  Creole 
South  ;  he  is  a  gabbler  and  adventurer,  with  a 
love  for  duels  and  prodigalities  {escampatives). 
Five  years  of  life  in  Paris,  one  hundred  thousand 
francs  gone  in  "  bucking  the  tiger  "  at  the  clubs, 
paid  for  with  his  mother's  diamonds,  had  sufhced 
to  give  him  a  good  boulevard  accent  and  a  fine 
crusty  tone  of  gold  on  his  manners. 

Viscount  Charlexis  de  Rochemaure,  a  com- 
patriot of  Numa,  is  of  a  very  different  kind. 
Educated  by  the  Fathers  of  the  Assumption,  he 
had  made  his  law  studies  at  home  under  the 
superintendence  of  his  mother  and  an  abb6  ;  he 
still  retained  from  that  early  education  a  candid 
look  and  the  timid  manners  of  a  theological  student 
that  contrasted  vividly  with  his  goatee  in  the  style 
of  Louis  XIII,  the  combination  making  him  seem 
at  one  and  the  same  time  foxy  and  a  muff. 

Big  Lappara  tries  hard  to  initiate  this  young 
Tony  Lumpkin  into  the  mysteries  of  Parisian  life. 
He  teaches  him  how  to  dress  himself,  what  is  chic 
and  what  is  not  chiCf  to  walk  with  his  neck  forward 


lOO  Numa  Roumestan, 

and  his  mouth  drawn  down  and  to  seat  himself  all 
of  a  piece,  as  it  were,  w^ith  his  legs  extended  in 
order  not  to  wrinkle  his  trousers  at  the  knees.  He 
would  like  to  shake  his  simple  faith  in  men  and 
things,  to  cure  him  of  that  love  of  superstitions 
which  simply  classes  him  among  the  quill-drivers. 

Not  a  bit  of  it !  the  viscount  likes  his  work  and 
when  he  is  not  at  the  Palace  or  the  Chamber  with 
Roumestan,  as  to-day  for  instance,  he  sits  "for 
hours  at  the  secretaries'  table  in  the  office  next  to 
the  chief's  and  practises  engrossing.  The  Bor- 
deaux man,  on  the  contrary,  has  drawn  an  arm-chair 
up  to  the  window,  and  in  the  twilight,  with  a  cigar 
in  his  mouth  and  his  legs  stretched  out,  lazily 
watches  through  the  falling  rain  and  the  steaming 
asphalt  the  long  procession  of  carriages  driving  up 
to  the  doors  with  every  whip  in  the  air ;  for  to-day 
is  Mme.  Roumestan's  Thursday. 

What  a  lot  of  people  !  and  still  they  come  ;  more 
and  more  carriages !  Lappara,  who  boasts  of 
knowing  thoroughly  the  liveries  of  the  great 
people  in  Paris,  calls  out  the  names  as  he  recog- 
nizes them  :  "  Duchesse  de  San  Donnino,  Marquis 
de  Bellegarde  —  hello !  the  Mauconseils,  too  ! 
Now  I'd  like  to  know  what  that  means?"  and 
turning  towards  a  tall,  thin  person  who  stands  by 
the  mantelpiece  drying  his  worsted  gloves  and  his 
light-colored  trousers,  too ,  thin  for  the  season, 
carefully  turned  up  over  his  cloth  shoes  :  "  Have 
you  heard  anything,  Bompard?  " 

"  Heard  anythink?  Sartainly  I  have,"  was  the 
answer  in  a  broad  accent. 


Cabinet  Minister  I  loi 

Bompard,  Roumestan's  mame,luk&,;  H^a  the 
honorary  position  of  a  fourth  secretary  who  does 
outside  business,  goes  to  look  for  news  and  sir.g^s 
his  patron's  praises  about  the  streets.  This  occupa- 
tion does  not  seem  to  be  a  lucrative  one,  judging 
from  his  appearance,  but  that  is  really  not  Numa's 
fault.  Aside  from  the  midday  meal  and  an  occa- 
sional half-louis,  this  singular  kind  of  parasite  could 
never  be  induced  to  accept  anything  ;  and  how  he 
supported  existence  remained  as  great  a  mystery 
as  ever  to  his  best  friends.  To  ask  him  if  he  knows 
anything,  to  doubt  the  imagination  of  Bompard, 
is  to  show  a  fine  simplicity  of  soul ! 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  and  somethink  vary  serious." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  Marshal  has  just  been  shot  at."  For 
one  moment  consternation  reigns  ;  the  young  men 
look  at  each  other.  Then  Lappara  stretches  him- 
self in  his  chair  and  asks  languidly : 

**  How  about  your  asphalt  affair,  old  man  —  how 
is  it  getting  on?" 

**  Vai  !  the  asphalt  —  I  have  something  much 
better  than  that." 

Not  at  all  surprised  that  his  news  of  the 
attempted  assassination  of  the  Marshal  had  pro- 
duced so  little  effect,  he  now  proceeded  to  unfold  to 
them  his  new  scheme.  A  wonderful  thing,  and  so 
simple  !  It  was  to  scoop  the  prizes  of  one  hundred 
and  twenty  thousand  francs  that  the  Swiss  govern- 
ments offers  yearly  at  the  Federal  shooting- 
matches.  He  had  been  a  crack  shot  at  larks  in 
his  day ;  with  a  little  practice  he  could  easily  get 


I02  Numa  Roumestan, 

■.his  han<i;  magam  and  secure  a  hundred  and  twenty 
"thousand  francs- annually  to  the  end  of  his  life. 
$^0<iH*^i^-^^b'  w^y  to  do  it,  au  mains  I  Traversing 
Switzerland  by  short  marches,  going  slowly,  from 
canton  to  canton,  rifle  on  showlder. 

The  man  of  schemes  grew  warm  with  his  sub- 
ject, climbed  mountains,  crossed  glaciers,  de- 
scended vales  and  torrents  and  shook  down 
avalanches  before  his  astonished  young  listeners. 
Of  all  the  imaginings  of  that  disordered  brain 
this  was  certainly  the  most  astonishing,  delivered 
with  an  air  of  perfect  conviction,  with  a  fire  and 
flame  that,  burning  inwardly,  covered  his  brow , 
with  corrugated  wrinkles. 

His  ravings  were  only  hushed  by  the  breathless 
arrival  of  Mejean,  who  came  rushing  in  much 
excited : 

"  Great  news !  "  he  said  throwing  his  bag  upon 
the  table.     "  The  Ministry  is  fallen  !  " 

"  It  can't  be  possible !  " 

"  Roumestan  takes  the  Ministry  of  Public 
Instruction.  ..." 

"  I  knew  that,"  said  Bompard ;  and  as  they 
smiled,  he  added:  '^  Par-f ait-em  am,  gentlemen! 
I  was  there ;   I  have  just  come  from  there." 

"  And  you  did  n't  mention  it  before !  " 

"Why  should  I?  No  one  ever  believes  me.  I 
think  it  is  my  agsent^'  he  added  resignedly  and 
with  a  candid  air,  the  fun  of  which  was  lost  in  the 
prevailing  excitement. 

Roumestan  a  Cabinet  Minister ! 

"Ah,  my  boys,  what  a  shifty,  smart  fellow  the 


Cabinet  Minister  I  103 

chief  is  !  "  Lappara  kept  saying,  throwing  himself 
back  in  his  chair  with  his  legs  near  the  ceiling. 
*'  Has  n't  he  played  his  cards  well !  " 

Rochemaure  looked  up  indignant: 

"  Don't  talk  of  smartness  and  shiftiness,  my 
friend;  Roumestan  is  conscientiousness  itself. 
He  goes  straight  ahead  like  a  bullet  —  " 

**  In  the  first  place,  there  are  no  bullets  now- 
adays, my  child  —  only  shells;  and  shells  do 
this  — "  and  with  the  tip  of  his  boot  he  indi- 
cated the  curving  course  of  a  trajectory: 

"  Scandal-monger !  " 

*' Idiot!" 

**  Gentlemen,  gentlemen  !  " 

Mejean  wondered  to  himself  over  this  extraor- 
dinary man  Roumestan,  this  complicated  nature 
whom  even  those  who  knew  him  most  intimately 
could  judge  so  differently. 

"A  shifty  fellow  !  — conscientiousness  itself!  " 

The  public  judged  of  him  in  the  same  double 
way.  He  who  knew  him  thoroughly  was  con- 
scious of  the  shallowness  and  indolence  that 
modified  his  tireless  ambition  and  made  him  at 
the  same  time  better  and  worse  than  his  reputa- 
tion. But  was  it  really  true,  this  news  of  his  Min- 
isterial portfolio?  Anxious  to  know  the  truth, 
Mejean  glanced  in  the  glass  to  see  if  he  was  in 
proper  shape,  and,  stepping  across  the  hall,  entered 
the  apartments  of  Mme.  Roumestan. 

From  the  antechamber  where  the  footmen  waited 
with  their  ladies'  wraps  could  be  heard  the  hum  of 
many  voices   deadened   by  the  heavy,  luxurious 


I04  Numa  Roumestan. 

hangings  and  high  ceilings.  Rosalie  generally 
received  in  her  little  drawing-room,  furnished  as 
a  winter  garden  with  cane  seats  and  pretty  little 
tables,  the  light  just  filtering  in  between  the  green 
leaves  of  the  plants  that  filled  the  windows.  That 
had  always  sufficed  her  in  her  lowly  position  as 
a  simple  lady  overshadowed  by  her  husband's 
greatness,  perfectly  without  social  ambition  and 
passing  among  those  who  did  not  know  her  supe- 
riority for  a  good-enough  person  of  no  great 
importance.  But  to-day  the  two  large  drawing- 
rooms  were  humming  and  crowded  to  overflow- 
ing ;  new  people  were  constantly  arriving,  friends 
to  the  remotest  degree,  even  to  the  slightest  ac- 
quaintanceship, people  to  whose  faces  it  would 
have  puzzled  Rosalie  to  attach  a  name. 

Dressed  very  simply  in  a  gown  of  violet,  most 
becoming  to  her  slender  figure  and  the  whole 
harmonious  personality  of  her  being,  she  received 
every  one  alike  with  her  gentle  little  smile,  her 
manner  somewhat  haughty  —  her  r^fr^jon^  or  *'  up- 
pish" air,  as  Aunt  Portal  had  once  expressed  it. 
Not  the  slightest  elation  at  her  new  position  — 
rather  a  little  surprise  and  uneasiness,  but  her  feel- 
ings kept  well  concealed ! 

She  went  from  group  to  group  as  the  daylight 
faded  rapidly  in  the  lower  story  of  the  city  house 
and  the  servants  brought  lamps  and  lighted  the 
candles.  The  rooms  assumed  their  festal  air  as 
at  their  evening  receptions,  the  rich  shining  hang- 
ings and  oriental  rugs  and  tapestries  glittering 
like  colored  stones  in  the  light 


Cabinet  Minister !  105 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  Mejean !  "  and  Rosalie  came  up 
to  him,  glad  to  feel  an  intimate  friend  near  her  in 
this  crowd  of  strangers.  They  understood  each 
other  perfectly.  This  Southerner  who  had  learned 
to  be  cool  and  the  emotional  Parisian  had  similar 
ways  of  seeing  and  judging  things,  and  together 
they  acted  as  counterweights  to  the  weaknesses 
and  extravagances  of  Numa. 

'*  I  came  in  to  see  if  the  news  were  true.  But 
there  is  no  doubt  about  it,"  said  he,  glancing  at 
the  crowded  rooms.  She  handed  him  the  tele- 
gram she  had  received  from  her  husband  and  said 
in  a  low  voice : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  It  is  a  great  responsibility,  but  you  will  be 
there." 

"And  you  too,"  she  answered,  pressing  his 
hand,  and  then  turned  away  to  meet  other  new- 
comers. 

The  fact  was  that  more  people  kept  arriving  but 
no  one  went  away.  They  were  waiting  for  Rou- 
mestan ;  they  wished  to  hear  all  the  particulars  of 
the  affair  from  his  own  lips  —  how  with  one  lift  of 
his  shoulder  he  had  managed  to  upset  them  all. 
Some  of  the  new  arrivals  who  had  just  come 
from  the  Chamber  were  already  bringing  with 
them  bits  of  news  and  scraps  of  conversations. 
Every  one  crowded  about  them  in  pleasurable 
excitement  The  women  especially  were  wildly 
interested.  Under  the  big  hats  which  came  into 
fashion  that  winter  their  pretty  cheeks  flushed 
with  that  fine  rosy  tint,  that  fever  one  sees  in  the 


io6  Numa  Roumestan, 

players  round  the  tables  at  the  gambling  house 
at  Monte  Carlo.  The  fashion  of  hats  this  year 
was  a  revival  of  the  days  of  the  Fronde,  soft  felt 
hats  with  long  feathers ;  perhaps  it  was  this  that 
made  their  wearers  so  interested  in  politics.  But 
all  these  ladies  appeared  well  up  in  such  matters; 
they  talked  in  purest  parliamentary  language, 
emphasizing  their  remarks  with  blows  from  their 
little  muffs ;  all  of  them  sang  the  praises  of  the 
leader.  In  fact  this  exclamation  could  be  heard 
on  every  side :   "  What  a  man  !  what  a  man  !  " 

In  a  corner  sat  old  Bechut,  a  professor  at  the 
College  de  France,  a  very  ugly  man  all  nose  —  an 
immense  scientist's  nose  that  seemed  to  have 
elongated  itself  from  poking  into  books.  He  was 
taking  the  success  of  Roumestan  as  the  text  for 
one  of  his  favorite  theories  —  that  all  the  weakness 
in  the  modern  world  comes  from  the  too  promi- 
nent place  in  it  given  to  women  and  children. 
Ignorance  and  toilets,  caprice  and  brainlessness ! 
**  You  see,  sir,  that  is  where  Roumestan  is  so 
strong!  He  has  no  children  and  he  has  known 
how  to  escape  the  influence  of  woman.  So  he 
has  followed  one  straight,  firm  path;  no  turning 
aside,  no  deviation!"  The  solemn  personage 
whom  he  was  addressing,  councillor  at  the  Court 
of  Cassation,  a  simple-looking,  round-headed  little 
man  whose  ideas  rattled  about  in  his  empty  skull 
like  corn  in  a  gourd,  drew  himself  up  approvingly 
in  a  magisterial  way,  as  who  should  say:  "  I  also 
am  a  superior  man,  sir !  I  also  have  escaped  from 
the  influences  to  which  you  refer," 


Cabinet  Minister!  107 

Seeing  that  people  were  listening,  the  professor 
spoke  louder  and  cited  the  great  names  of  history, 
Caesar,  Richelieu,  Frederick,  Napoleon,  scientific- 
ally proving  at  the  same  time  that  in  the  scale  of 
thinking  creatures  woman  was  on  a  much  lower 
grade  than  man.  "  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  if  we 
examine  the  cellular  tissues  .  .  ." 

But  what  was  much  more  amusing  to  examine  was 
the  expression  on  the  faces  of  the  wives  of  these  two 
gentlemen,  who  were  sitting  side  by  side,  all  atten- 
tion, taking  a  cup  of  tea  —  which  genial  meal,  with 
its  goodies  hot  from  the  oven,  its  steaming  sam- 
ovar and  rattle  of  spoons  on  costly  china,  was  just 
being  served  to  the  guests.  The  younger  lady, 
Mme.  de  Boe,  had  made  of  her  gourd-headed  hus- 
band, a  used-up  nobleman  with  nothing  but  debts, 
a  magistrate  in  the  Court  of  Cassation  through 
the  influence  of  her  family;  people  shuddered  to 
think  of  this  spendthrift,  who  had  quickly  wasted 
all  his  wife's  fortune  and  his  own,  having  the 
public  moneys  in  his  control.  Mme.  Bechut,  a 
former  beauty  and  still  beautiful,  with  long-lidded, 
intelligent  eyes  and  delicate  features,  showed  only 
by  a  contraction  of  her  mouth  that  she  had  been  at 
war  with  the  world  for  years  and  was  consumed 
with  a  tireless  and  unscrupulous  ambition.  Her 
sole  effort  had  been  to  push  into  the  front  rank 
her  very  commonplace  professor.  By  means  that 
unfortunately  were  only  too  well  known  she  had 
compelled  the  doors  of  the  Institute  and  the  Col- 
lege de  France  to  open  to  him.  There  was  a 
whole   world  of  meaning  in  the  grim   smile  that 


io8  Numa  Roumestan, 

these  two  women  exchanged  over  their  teacups 
—  and  perhaps,  if  one  were  to  search  carefully 
among  the  gentlemen,  there  were  a  good  many 
other  men  in  the  throng  who  had  not  been  exactly 
injured  by  feminine  influence. 

Suddenly  Roumestan  appeared.  Disregarding 
the  shouts  of  welcome  and  congratulations  of  the 
guests,  he  crossed  the  room  quickly,  went  straight 
to  his  wife  and  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks  before 
she  could  prevent  this  rather  trying  demonstration 
before  the  public.  But  what  could  have  better 
disproved  the  assertion  of  the  professor?  All  the 
ladies  cried  "  bravo  !  "  Much  hand-shaking  and 
embracing  ensued  and  then  an  attentive  silence  as 
Numa,  leaning  against  the  chimney-piece,  began 
to  relate  briefly  the  results  of  the  day. 

The  great  blow  arranged  a  week  ago  to  be 
struck  to-day,  the  plots  and  counter-plots,  the 
wild  rage  of  the  Left  at  its  defeat,  his  own  over- 
whelming triumph,  his  rush  to  the  tribune,  even 
to  the  very  intonation  he  had  used  to  the  Marshal 
when  he  replied :  "  That  depends  on  you,  Mr. 
President  "  —  he  told  everything,  forgot  nothing, 
with  a  gayety  and  warmth  that  were  contagious. 

Then,  becoming  grave,  he  enumerated  the  great 
responsibilities  of  his  position;  the  reform  of 
the  University  with  its  crowd  of  youths  to  be 
brought  up  hoping  for  the  realization  of  better 
things  —  this  allusion  was  understood  and  greeted 
with  loud  applause;  but  he  meant  to  surround 
himself  with  enlightened  men,  to  beg  for  the  good 
will   and   devotion   of  all.     With  moist   eyes   he 


Cabinet  Minister  I  109 

mustered  the  groups  about  him.  **  I  call  on  you, 
friend  Bechut,  and  you,  my  dear  De  Boe  —  " 

They  were  all  so  in  earnest  that  no  one  stopped 
to  ask  in  what  manner  the  dull  wits  of  the  coun- 
cillor at  the  Court  of  Cassation  could  aid  in  the 
reform  of  the  University.  But  then  the  number 
of  persons  of  that  sort  whom  Roumestan  had 
urged  that  afternoon  to  aid  him  in  his  tremendous 
duties  of  the  Public  Instruction  was  really  incal- 
culable. As  regards  the  fine  arts,  however,  he  felt 
more  at  ease,  so  he  said ;  there  they  would  not 
refuse  help  !  A  flattering  murmur  of  laughter  and 
exclamations  stopped  his  further  words. 

As  to  that  department  there  was  but  one  voice 
in  all  Paris,  even  among  his  worst  enemies  —  Numa 
was  the  man  for  the  work.  Now  at  last  there 
would  be  a  jury  for  art,  a  lyric  theatre,  an  official 
art !  But  the  Minister  cut  these  dithyrambics  off 
and  remarked  in  a  gay  and  familiar  tone  that  the 
new  Cabinet  was  composed  almost  exclusively  of 
Southerners.  Out  of  eight  members  Provence, 
Bordeaux,  Perigord  and  Languedoc  had  supplied 
six ;  and  then,  growing  excited :  "  Aha,  the  South 
is  cHmbing,  the  South  is  climbing  !  Paris  is  ours. 
We  have  everything.  It  rests  with  you,  gentlemen, 
to  profit  by  it.  For  the  second  time  the  Latins 
have  conquered  Gaul !  " 

He  looked  indeed  like  a  Latin  of  the  conquest, 
his  head  Hke  a  medallion  with  broad  flat  sur- 
faces on  the  cheeks,  with  his  dark  complexion  and 
unceremonious  ways,  his  carelessness,  so  out  of 
place  in  this  Parisian  drawing-room.     In  the  midst 


no  Numa  Roumestan, 

of  the  cheers  and  laughter  greeting  his  last  speech 
Numa,  always  a  good  actor,  knowing  well  how  to 
leave  as  soon  as  he  had  shot  his  bolt,  suddenly 
quitted  the  fireplace  and  signing  to  Mejean  to  fol- 
low him  passed  from  the  room  by  one  of  the 
smaller  doors,  leaving  Rosalie  to  make  his  excuses 
for  him.  He  was  to  dine  at  Versailles  with  the 
Marshal ;  he  had  hardly  the  time  to  dress  and  sign 
a  few  papers. 

**  Come  and  help  me  dress,"  said  he  to  a  servant 
who  was  laying  the  table  with  three  plates,  for 
Roumestan,  Madame  and  Bompard,  around  tha,t 
basket  of  flowers  which  Rosalie  had  fresh  at  every 
meal.  He  felt  a  thrill  of  delight  that  he  was  not 
to  dine  there;  the  tumult  of  enthusiasm  that  he 
had  left  behind  him  in  the  drawing-room  excited 
in  him  the  desire  for  more  gayety  and  more  brilliant 
company.  Besides,  a  Southerner  is  never  a  domes- 
tic man.  The  Northern  nations  alone  have  in- 
vented to  meet  their  wretched  climate  the  word 
**  home,"  that  intimate  family  circle  to  which  the 
Provencal  and  the  Italian  prefer  the  gardens  of 
caf(6s  and  the  noise  and  excitement  of  the  streets. 

Between  the  dining-room  and  the  office  was  a 
small  reception  room,  usually  full  of  people  at  this 
hour,  anxiously  watching  the  clock  and  looking 
abstractedly  at  the  illustrated  papers,  but  quite 
preoccupied  by  their  legal  woes.  Mejean  had 
sent  them  all  away  to-day,  for  he  did  not  think 
Numa  could  attend  to  them.  One,  however,  had 
refused  to  go  :  a  big  fellow  in  ready-made  garments 
and  awkward  as  a  corporal  in  citizen's  dress. 


Cabinet  Minister  /  III 

"Ah,  God  be  with  ye,  Monsieur  Roumestan; 
how  are  things?  I  have  been  hoping  so  long  that 
you  would  come  !  " 

The  accent,  the  swarthy  face,  that  jaunty  air  — 
Numa  had  seen  them  somewhere  before,  but 
where  ? 

"  You  have  forgotten  me  ? "  said  the  stranger. 
"  Valmajour,  the  taborist." 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  of  course." 

He  was  about  to  pass  on,  but  Valmajour  planted 
himself  before  him  and  informed  him  that  he  had 
arrived  the  day  before  yesterday.  "  I  could  n't  get 
here  before,  because  when  one  moves  a  whole 
family,   it  takes  a  little  time  to  get  installed." 

"A  whole  family?"  said  Numa  with  bulging 
eyes. 

^^  Be !  yes;  my  father  and  my  sister.  We  have 
done  as  you  advised." 

Roumestan  looked  distressed  and  embarrassed, 
as  he  always  did  when  called  upon  to  redeem  notes 
like  this  or  fulfil  a  promise,  lightly  given  in  order 
to  make  himself  agreeable,  but  with  little  idea  of 
future  acceptance.  Dear  me,  he  was  only  too  glad 
to  be  of  use  to  Valmajour !  He  would  consider 
it  and  see  what  he  could  do.  But  this  evening  he 
was  very  much  hurried  —  exceptional  circumstan- 
ces—  the  invitation  of  the  President.  But  as  the 
peasant  made  no  sign  of  going:  "  Come  in  here," 
said  he,  and  they  went  into  the  study. 

As  Numa  sat  at  his  desk  reading  over  and  sign- 
ing several  papers  Valmajour  glanced  about  the 
handsome  room,  richly  furnished  and  carpeted,  with 


112  Numa  Roumestan, 

book-shelves  covering  all  the  walls,  surmounted  by- 
bronzes,  busts  and  works  of  art,  reminiscences 
each  one  of  glorious  causes — a  portrait  of  the  king 
signed  by  his  own  royal  hand.  And  he  was  much 
impressed  by  the  solemnity  of  it  all  —  the  stiffness 
of  the  carved  chairs,  the  rows  of  books,  above  all 
the  presence  of  the  servant,  correct  in  his  severe 
black  costume,  coming  and  going  and  arranging 
quickly  on  chairs  his  master's  evening  clothes  and 
immaculate  linen.  But  over  there  in  the  light  of 
the  lamps  the  big  kind  face  and  familiar  profile  of 
Roumestan  that  he  knew  so  well  reassured  him. 
His  letters  finished,  Roumestan  began  to  dress,  and 
while  the  servant  drew  off  his  master's  trousers  and 
shoes  he  asked  Valmajour  questions  and  learned 
to  his  dismay  that  before  leaving  home  they  had 
sold  everything  that  they  owned  in  the  world  — 
mulberry-trees,  vineyards,  farm,  everything! 
"You  sold  your  farm,  foolish  fellow?  " 
"  Well,  my  sister  was  somewhat  afraid,  but  my 
father  and  I  insisted  upon  it.  I  said  to  them, 
*  What  risk  is  it  when  we  are  going  to  Numa  and 
when  he  is  getting  us  to  come  ? '  " 

It  needed  all  the  taborist's  nalvetd  to  dare  talk 
in  that  free  and  easy  way  before  a  Minister.  It 
was  not  Valmajour's  simplicity  that  struck  Numa 
most;  it  was  the  thought  of  the  great  crowd  of 
enemies  that  he  had  made  for  himself  by  this 
incorrigible  mania  for  promises.  Now  I  ask  you 
—  what  need  was  there  to  go  and  disturb  the  quiet 
life  of  these  poor  people?  and  he  went  over  in 
his  memory  all  the  details  of  his  visit  to  Mount 


Cabinet  Minister  !  113 

Cordova,  the  scruples  of  the  peasant  girl  and  the 
pains  that  he  took  to  overcome  them.  What  for? 
what  devil  tempted  him?  He,  this  peasant,  was 
dreadful.  And  as  to  his  talent,  he  did  not  re- 
member much  about  it,  concerned  as  he  was  at 
having  this  whole  family  on  his  shoulders.  He 
knew  beforehand  how  his  wife  would  reproach 
him  —  remembered  her  cold  look  as  she  said : 
"  Still,  words  must  vs\^2.w  something ! '*  And  now, 
in  his  new  position  at  the  source  and  spring  of 
favors,  what  a  lot  of  trouble  he  was  going  to 
create  for  himself  as  a  result  of  his  own  fatal 
benevolence ! 

But  the  gladsome  thought  that  he  was  a  Minister 
and  the  consciousness  of  his  power  restored  his 
spirits  almost  at  once.  On  such  pinnacles  as  his, 
why  should  such  small  things  worry  him?  Master 
of  all  the  fine  arts,  with  all  the  theatres  and  places 
of  amusement  under  his  thumb,  it  would  be  a  trifle 
to  make  the  fortune  of  these  luckless  people. 
Restored  to  his  own  self-complacency,  he  changed 
his  tone  and  in  order  to  keep  the  peasant  in  his 
place  told  him  solemnly  and  from  a  lofty  place 
to  what  important  distinction  he  had  been  that 
day  appointed.  Unhappily  he  was  at  that  mo- 
ment only  half  dressed,  his  feet  in  silk  stockings 
rested  on  the  floor  and  his  portly  form  was  arrayed 
in  white  flannel  underclothes  trimmed  with  pink 
ribbons.  Valmajour  could  not  connect  the  word 
"  Minister  "  in  his  mind  with  a  fat  man  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, so  he  continued  to  call  him  Moussii  Numa, 
to  talk  to  him  about  his  own  ''  music "   and  the 

8 


114  Numa  Roumestan, 

new  songs  that  he  had  learned.     Ah,  he  feared  no 
tabor-player  in  all  Paris  now ! 

*'  Listen,  I  will  show  you." 

He  flew  toward  the  next  room  to  get  his  tabor 
but  Roumestan  stopped  him. 

"  I  tell  you  I  am  in  a  great  hurry,  deuce  take 
you !  " 

"  All  right,  all  right,  another  time  then,"  said 
the  peasant  good-naturedly. 

And  seeing  Mejean  approaching  he  thought  it 
necessary  to  begin  to  tell  him  the  story  of  the 
fife  with  three  stops. 

"  It   come   to   me  right   in   the    middle   of  the  ' 
night,  listening  to  the  singing  of  the  nightingoyle ; 
thought  I  to  meself :   *  How  is  it,  Valmajour —  '  " 

It  was  the  same  little  story  that  he  had  told 
them  in  the  amphitheatre :  having  found  it  suc- 
cessful, he  cleverly  clung  to  it,  repeating  it  word 
for  word.  But  this  time  his  manner  became  less 
assured,  a  certain  embarrassment  gaining  from 
moment  to  moment  as  Roumestan  finished  his 
toilet  and  stood  before  him  in  all  the  severity  of 
his  black  evening  clothes  and  enormous  shirt-front 
of  fine  linen  with  its  studs  of  Oriental  pearls,  which 
the  valet  handed  him  piece  by  piece. 

Moussu  Numa  seemed  to  him  to  have  grown 
taller,  his  head,  held  stiffly,  solemnly,  for  fear  of 
disarranging  his  immaculate  white  muslin  tie, 
seemed  lighted  up  by  the  pale  beams  radiating 
from  the  cross  of  Saint  Anne  around  his  neck  and 
the  big  order  of  Isabella  the  Catholic,  like  a  sun, 
pinned  upon  his  breast.     And  suddenly  the  peas- 


Cabinet  Minister!  115 

ant,  seized  by  a  wave  of  respect  and  fright,  realized 
that  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  one  of  those  priv- 
ileged beings  of  the  earth,  that  strange,  almost 
superhuman  creature,  the  powerful  god  to  whom 
the  prayers  and  desires  and  supplications  of  his 
worshippers  are  sent  only  on  large  stamped  paper, 
so  high  up,  indeed,  that  humbler  devotees  are  never 
privileged  to  see  him,  so  haughty  that  they  only 
whisper  his  name  with  fear  and  trembling,  in  a 
sort  of  restrained  fear  and  ignorant  emphasis  — 
the  Minister  ! 

Poor  Valmajour  !  He  was  so  upset  by  this  idea 
that  he  hardly  heard  Roumestan's  kind  words  of 
farewell,  asking  him  to  come  again  in  a  fortnight 
when  he  would  be  installed  in  his  new  quarters  at 
the  Ministry. 

**  All  right,  all  right,  your  Excellency." 

He  backed  towards  the  door,  still  dazzled  by 
the  orders  and  extraordinary  expression  of  his 
transfigured  compatriot.  Numa  was  delighted  at 
this  sudden  timidity,  which  was  a  tribute  to  what 
he  henceforward  called  his  **  ministerial  air,"  his 
curling  lip,  his  frowning  brow  and  his  severe, 
reserved  manner. 

A  few  moments  later  his  Excellency  was  rolling 
towards  the  railway  station,  forgetting  this  tire- 
some episode  and  lulled  by  the  gentle  motion  of 
the  coup6  with  its  bright  lamps  as  he  flew  to 
meet  his  new  and  exalted  engagements.  He  was 
already  preparing  the  telling  points  in  his  first 
speech,  composing  his  plan  of  campaign,  his  famous 
letter   to  the  rectors  and  thinking  of  the  excite- 


ii6  Nttma  Roumestan, 

ment  caused  all  over  Europe  when  they  should 
read  his  nomination  in  to-morrow's  papers,  when, 
at  the  turn  of  the  boulevard,  in  the  light  of  a  gas- 
lamp  reflected  in  the  wet  asphalt,  he  caught  sight 
of  the  taborist,  his  tabor  hanging  from  his  arm, 
deafened  and  frightened,  waiting  for  an  opportu- 
nity to  cross  the  street  v/hich  was  at  that  hour,  as 
all  Paris  hastened  to  re-enter  its  gates,  a  mov- 
ing mass  of  carriages  and  wagons,  while  crowded 
omnibuses  jolted  swaying  along  and  the  horns  of 
the  tramway  conductors  sounded  at  intervals.  In 
the  falling  shades  of  night  and  the  steam  of  damp- 
ness which  the  rain  threw  up  from  the  hurrying 
crowd,  in  this  great  jostling  crowd  the  poor  boy 
seemed  so  lost,  exiled  and  overwhelmed  by  the 
tall,  unfriendly  buildings  around  him  —  he  seemed 
so  pitifully  unlike  the  handsome  Valmajour  at  the 
door  of  his  mas,  giving  the  rhythm  to  the  locusts 
with  his  tabor,  that  Roumestan  turned  away  his 
head  and,  for  a  few  moments,  a  feeling  of  remorse 
threw  a  cloud  over  the  radiant  pathway  of  his 
triumph. 


The  Passage  du  Saumon,  iiy 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  PASSAGE  DU   SAUMON. 

While  awaiting  a  more  complete  settling  than 
was  possible  before  the  arrival  of  their  furniture, 
which  was  coming  by  slow  freight,  the  Valmajours 
had  taken  rooms  temporarily  at  the  famous  Pas- 
sage du  Saumon,  where  from  time  immemorial 
teachers  from  Aps  and  its  district  have  stopped, 
and  of  which  Aunt  Portal  still  retained  such  aston- 
ishing recollections.  There,  up  under  the  roof,  they 
had  two  small  rooms,  one  of  which  was  without 
light  or  air,  a  kind  of  wood-closet  which  was  occu- 
pied by  the  men ;  the  other  was  not  much  larger 
but  seemed  to  them  fine  in  comparison,  with  its 
worm-pierced  black  walnut  furniture,  its  moth- 
eaten  ragged  carpet  on  the  worn  wooden  floor 
and  the  dormer  windows  that  let  in  only  a  bit  of  a 
sky  as  lowering  and  yellow  as  the  long  donkey- 
backed  skylight  over  the  Passage. 

In  these  poor  quarters  they  kept  up  the  mem- 
ory of  home  with  a  strong  smell  of  garlic  and  fried 
onions,  which  foreign  food  they  cooked  for  them- 
selves on  a  little  stove.  Old  Valmajour,  who  loved 
good  eating  and  was  also  fond  of  company,  would 
have  liked  to  dine  at  the  hotel  table,  where  the 
white  linen  and  plated  salt-cellars  and  service 
seemed  very  handsome  to  him,  and  also  to  have 


Ii8  Numa  Roumestan, 

joined  in  the  noisy  conversations  and  mingled  with 
shouts  of  laughter  of  the  commercial  gentlemen 
who  at  meal  times  filled  the  house  to  the  very  top 
floor  with  their  noise  and  jollity.  But  Audiberte 
opposed  this  flatly. 

Amazed  not  to  find  at  once  on  their  arrival  the 
promises  of  Numa  fulfilled  and  the  two  hundred 
francs  an  evening  which  had  filled  her  little  head 
with  piles  of  money  ever  since  the  visit  of  the 
Parisians;  horrified  at  the  high  price  of  every* 
thing,  from  the  first  day  she  had  been  seized  with 
the  craze  that  the  Parisians  call  *'  fear  of  want- 
ing." For  herself  she  could  get  along  with  an- 
chovies and  olives  as  in  Lent  —  te,  pardi  !  but  her 
men  were  perfect  wolves,  worse  than  in  their  own 
country  because  it  is  colder  in  Paris,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  be  constantly  opening  her  saquette,  a 
large  calico  pocket  made  by  her  own  hands,  in 
which  she  carried  the  three  thousand  francs  that 
they  had  received  for  their  farm  and  chattels. 

Each  coin  that  she  spent  was  a  struggle,  a  pang, 
as  if  she  were  handing  over  the  stones  of  her  farm- 
house or  the  last  vines  of  her  vineyard.  Her 
peasant  greed  and  her  suspiciousness,  that  fear 
of  being  cheated  by  a  tenant  which  caused  her  to 
sell  her  farm  instead  of  letting  it,  were  redoubled 
in  this  gloomy,  unknown  Paris,  this  city  which  from 
her  garret  she  heard  roaring  with  a  sound  that  did 
not  cease  day  or  night  at  this  noisy  corner  of  the 
city  market,  causing  the  glasses  near  the  hotel 
water-bottle  on  the  table  to  rattle  at  every  hour. 

No  traveller  lost  in  a  wood  of  sinister  repute 


The  Passage  du  Saumon.  1 1 9 

ever  clung  more  convulsively  to  his  baggage  than 
did  Audiberte  to  her  saquette  as  she  walked 
through  the  streets  in  her  green  skirt  and  her 
Aries  head-dress,  which  the  passers-by  turned  to 
stare  at.  When  she  entered  a  shop  with  her  coun- 
trywoman's gait,  the  way  she  had  of  calling  things 
by  a  lot  of  outlandish  names,  saying  api  for  celery, 
meriiijanes  for  aubergines,  made  her,  a  woman 
from  the  south  of  France,  as  much  a  stranger  in 
her  country's  capital  as  if  she  had  been  a  Russian 
from  Nijni  Novgorod  or  a  Swede  from  Stockholm. 

Sweet  and  humble  of  manner  at  first,  if  she  de- 
tected a  smile  on  the  face  of  a  clerk  or  received  a 
rough  answer  on  account  of  her  mania  for  bar- 
gaining, she  would  suddenly  fly  into  a  gust  of 
rage;  her  pretty  virginal  brown  face  twitching 
with  frantic  gesticulations  she  would  pour  forth 
a  torrent  of  noisy,  vainglorious  words.  Then 
she  would  tell  about  the  expected  legacy  from 
Cousin  Puyfourcat,  the  two  hundred  francs  a  night 
to  be  earned  by  her  brother,  the  friendship  that 
Roumestan  had  for  them  —  sometimes  calling  him 
Numa,  sometimes  the  Menister  —  all  this  with  an' 
emphasis  more  grotesque  than  her  familiarity. 
Everything  was  jumbled  together  in  a  flood  of 
gibberish  composed  of  the  langue  d'oil  tinged 
with  French. 

Then  her  habitual  caution  would  return  to  her; 
she  would  fear  that  she  had  talked  imprudently, 
and,  seized  by  a  superstitious  terror  at  her  own 
gossip,  she  would  stop,  suddenly  mute,  and  close 
her  lips  as  tightly  as  the  strings  of  her  saquette. 


I20  Numa  Roumestan. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  she  had  become  a  legend- 
ary character  in  the  quarter  of  the  Rue  Mont- 
martre,  a  street  of  shops  where,  at  their  ever-open 
doors,  the  vendors  of  meats,  green-groceries  and 
colonial  wares  discussed  the  affairs  and  secrets  of 
all  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighborhood.  The  con- 
stant teasing  of  these  people,  the  saucy  questions 
with  which  they  plied  her  as  she  made  her  frugal 
purchases  each  morning  —  as  to  why  her  brother's 
appearance  was  delayed  and  when  the  legacy  was 
coming  from  the  Arab  —  all  these  insults  to  her 
self-respect,  more  than  the  fear  of  poverty  staring 
them  in  the  face,  exasperated  Audiberte  against 
Numa,  against  those  promises  which  at  first  she 
had  suspected,  true  child  of  the  South  that  she 
was,  knowing  well  that  the  promises  of  her  coun- 
try-people down  South  vanish  easier  than  those  of 
other  folks  —  all  because  of  the  lightness  of  the 
air. 

''  Oh,  if  we  had  only  made  him  sign  a  paper !  " 

This  idea  became  a  fixture  in  her  mind  and  she 
felt  daily  in  her  brother's  pockets  for  the  stamped 
document  when  Valmajour  set  out  for  the  Ministry, 
in  order  to  be  sure  it  was  there. 

But  Roumestan  was  engaged  in  signing  another 
kind  of  paper  and  had  many  things  to  think  of 
more  important  than  the  taborist.  He  was  set- 
tling down  in  his  new  office  with  the  generous 
ardor  and  enthusiasm,  with  the  fever  of  a  man  who 
comes  to  his  own.  Everything  was  a  novelty  to 
him  —  the  enormous  rooms  of  the  Ministry  as  well 
as  the   large    ideas    necessitated    by  his  position. 


The  Passage  du  Saumon,  121 

To  arrive  at  the  top,  to  ''  reconquer  Gaul,"  as  he 
had  said,  that  was  not  so  difficult;  but  to  sustain 
himself  satisfactorily,  to  justify  his  elevation  by 
intelligent  reforms  and  attempts  at  progress ! 
Full  of  zeal,  he  studied,  questioned,  consulted, 
literally  surrounded  himself  with  shining  lights. 
With  Bechut,  that  great  professor,  he  studied  the 
evils  of  the  college  system  and  the  means  to 
extirpate  the  spirit  of  free-thinking  in  the  schools. 
He  employed  the  experience  of  his  chief  in  the 
fine  arts,  M.  de  la  Calmette,  who  had  behind 
him  twenty-nine  years  of  office,  and  of  Cadaillac, 
the  manager  of  the  grand  opera,  who  was  still 
erect  after  three  failures,  in  order  to  remodel  the 
Conservatory,  the  Salon  and  the  Academy  of 
Music  in  accordance  with  brand-new  plans. 

The  trouble  was  that  he  never  listened  to  these 
counsellors,  but  talked  himself  for  hours  at  a  time 
and  then,  suddenly  glancing  at  his  watch,  would 
rise  and  hastily  dismiss  them:  "Bad  luck  to  it  — 
I  had  forgotten  the  council  meeting !  What  a 
life,  not  a  moment  to  oneself!  I  understand  — 
just  send  me  your  memorial  right  off!  " 

Memorials  were  piling  up  on  Mejean's  desk,  who, 
notwithstanding  his  good  intentions  and  intelli- 
gence, had  none  too  much  time  for  current  work 
and  so  permitted  these  grand  reforms  to  slumber 
in  their  dust.  I.ike  all  Ministers  when  they  arrive 
at  a  portfolio,  Roumestan  had  brought  with  him 
all  his  clerks  from  the  Rue  Scribe  —  Baron  de 
Lappara  and  Viscount  de  Rochemaure,  who  gave 
a  flavor  of  aristocracy  to  the   new  Ministry,  but 


12  2  Ntima  Rou7nestan, 

who  were  otherwise  perfectly  incompetent  and 
ignorant  of  their  duties. 

The  first  time  that  Valmajour  came  there  he 
was  received  by  Lappara,  who  occupied  himself 
by  preference  with  the  fine  arts  and  whose  duties 
consisted  principally  in  sending  invitations  in  large 
official  envelopes  at  all  hours  by  staff  officers, 
dragoons  or  cuirassiers  to  the  young  ladies  of  the 
minor  theatres,  asking  them  to  supper.  Some- 
times the  envelope  was  empty,  being  merely  a 
pretext  to  display  in  front  of  the  lady's  door  that 
reassuring  orderly  from  the  Ministry  the  day 
before  some  debt  came  due. 

Lappara  received  him  with  a  kindly,  easy  air,  a 
bit  top-loftical,  like  that  of  a  feudal  lord  receiving 
one  of  his  vassals.  His  legs  outstretched,  so  as 
not  to  crease  his  gray-blue  trousers,  he  talked 
mincingly  without  stopping  a  moment  the  polish- 
ing of  his  nails. 

"Not  easy  just  now  —  the  Minister  is  busy  — 
perhaps  in  a  few  days.  We  '11  let  you  know,  my 
good  fellow !  " 

And  when  in  his  simplicity  the  musician  ven- 
tured to  say  that  his  matter  was  somewhat  urgent, 
that  they  only  had  enough  for  a  short  time  left, 
the  baron,  carefully  placing  his  file  upon  the  edge 
of  the  desk  with  his  most  serious  air,  suggested  to 
him  to  have  a  crank  attached  to  his  tabor. 

"A  crank  attached  to  my  tabor?  —  for  what 
purpose?" 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  so  as  to  use  it  as  a  box 
iox  plaisirs  (cakes)  while  you  are  out  of  work." 


The  Passage  du  Saumo7t,  123 

The  next  time  Valmajour  came  to  see  Roumes- 
tan  he  was  received  by  Rochemaure.  The  vis- 
count raised  his  head  of  hair  frizzed  with  hot 
irons  from  the  dusty  ledger  over  which  he  was 
bending  and  in  his  conscientious  manner  asked 
to  have  the  mechanism  of  the  fife  explained  to 
him,  took  notes,  tried  to  understand  and  said 
finally  that  he  was  not  there  for  art  matters,  but 
more  especially  for  religious  questions. 

After  that  the  unhappy  peasant  never  could 
find  any  one  —  they  had  all  betaken  themselves  to 
that  inaccessible  retreat  where  His  Excellency 
had  hidden  himself.  Still  he  did  not  lose  calm- 
ness or  heart  and  always  responded  to  the  evasive 
answers  and  shrugging  shoulders  of  the  attendants 
with  the  surprised  but  steady  look  and  shrewd 
half-smile  peculiar  to  the  Provencal. 

*'  All  right,  I  will  come  again." 

And  he  did  come  again.  But  for  his  high  gait- 
ers and  the  tabor  hanging  on  his  arm,  he  might 
have  been  taken  for  an  employee  of  the  house, 
he  came  so  regularly.  But  each  time  he  came  it 
was  harder  than  the  last. 

Now  the  mere  sight  of  the  great  arched  door 
made  his  heart  beat.  Beyond  the  arch  was  the 
old  H6tel  Augereau  with  its  large  courtyard  where 
they  were  already  stacking  wood  for  the  winter 
and  the  double  staircase  so  hard  to  ascend  under 
the  mocking  gaze  of  the  servants.  Everything 
combined  to  harass  him  —  the  silver  chains  of  the 
porters,  the  gold-laced  caps,  the  endless  gorgeous 
things  that  made  him  feel  the  distance  that  sepa- 


124  Numa  Roumestan, 

rated  him  from  his  patron.  But  he  dreaded  more 
than  all  this  the  dreadful  scenes  that  he  went 
through  at  home,  the  terrible  frowning  brows  of 
Audiberte;  that  is  why  he  still  desperately  insisted 
on  coming.  At  last  the  hall  porter  took  pity  upon 
him  and  gave  him  the  advice  to  waylay  the  Minis- 
ter at  the  Saint-Lazare  station  when  he  was  going 
down  to  Versailles. 

He  took  his  advice  and  did  sentry  work  in  the 
big  lively  waiting  room  on  the  first  story  at  the 
hour  of  the  Parliament  train  when  it  took  on  a 
very  special  look  of  its  own.  Deputies,  senators, 
journalists,  members  of  the  Left,  of  the  Right  and 
all  the  parties  jostled  each  other  there,  forming  as 
variegated  a  throng  as  the  blue,  red  and  green 
placards  that  covered  the  walls.  They  watched 
each  other,  talked,  screamed,  whispered,  some  sit- 
ting apart  rehearsing  their  next  speech,  others, 
the  orators  of  the  lobbies,  making  the  windows 
rattle  with  loud  voices  that  the  Chamber  was  never 
destined  to  hear.  Northern  accents  and  Southern 
accents,  divers  opinions  and  sentiments,  swarming 
ambitions  and  intrigues,  the  noisy  tramp  of  the 
restless  crowd  —  this  waiting-room  with  its  delays 
and  uncertainties  was  an  appropriate  theatre  for 
politics,  this  tumult  of  a  journey  at  a  fixed  hour 
which  would  soon,  at  bid  of  the  whistle,  be  speed- 
ing over  the  rails  down  a  perspective  of  tracks,  disks 
and  locomotives,  over  a  country  full  of  accidents 
and  surprises. 

Five  minutes  later  he  saw  Numa  enter,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  one  of  his  secretaries  who  carried 


The  Passage  dti  Saumon,  125 

his  portfolio.  His  coat  was  flung  open,  his  face 
beaming  just  as  he  had  looked  that  day  on  the 
platform  in  the  amphitheatre  and  at  a  distance 
he  recognized  the  facile  voice,  the  warm  words, 
his  protestations  of  friendship :  "  Count  on  me, 
—  put  yourself  in  my  hands,  —  it  is  as  good  as 
granted.  .  .  ." 

The  Minister  just  then  was  in  the  honey-moon 
of  prosperity.  Except  for  political  enmities  —  not 
always  as  bitter  as  they  are  supposed  to  be,  simply 
the  result  of  rivalry  between  public  speakers  or 
quarrels  of  lawyers  on  opposite  sides  of  a  case  — 
Numa  had  no  enemies,  not  having  been  in  power 
long  enough  to  discourage  those  who  sought  his 
services.  His  credit  was  still  good.  Only  a  few 
had  begun  to  be  impatient  and  dog  his  foot- 
steps. To  these  he  threw  a  loud,  hasty  "  How  are 
you,  friend  ? "  that  anticipated  their  reproaches 
and  in  a  way  denied  their  arguments,  while  his 
familiar  manner  flattered  the  baffled  office-seekers 
and  yet  kept  their  demands  at  a  distance.  It  was 
a  great  idea,  was  this  "  How  are  you?  "  It  sprang 
from  instinctive  duplicity. 

At  sight  of  Valmajour,  who  came  swinging 
towards  him,  his  smile  showing  his  white  teeth, 
Numa  felt  inclined  to  throw  him  his  fatal,  care- 
less "  How  are  you,  friend?"  —  but  how  could  he 
treat  this  peasant  lad  in  a  little  felt  hat  as  a  friend 
as  he  stood  there  in  his  gray  jacket,  from  the 
sleeves  of  which  his  brown  hands  protruded  like 
those  in  a  cheap  village  photograph?  He  pre- 
ferred to  pass  him    by  without  a  word,  with   his 


126  Numa  Rottmestan. 

*'  Ministerial  air,"  leaving  the  poor  boy  amazed, 
crushed  and  knocked  about  by  the  crowd  that  was 
following  the  great  man.  Still  Valmajour  returned 
to  his  station  the  next  day  and  several  days  there- 
after, but  he  did  not  dare  approach  the  Minister; 
he  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  bench  with  that  touching 
air  of  sorrowful  resignation  that  one  so  often  sees 
in  a  railway  station  on  the  faces  of  soldiers  and 
emigrants,  who  are  going  to  a  strange  country,  pre- 
pared to  meet  all  the  chances  of  their  evil  destiny. 

Roumestan  could  not  evade  that  silent  figure 
on  his  path  with  its  dumb  appeal.  He  might 
pretend  not  to  see  it,  turn  aside  his  glance,  talk 
louder  as  he  passed ;  the  smile  on  his  victim's 
face  was  there  and  remained  there  until  the  train 
had  gone.  Of  a  certainty  he  would  have  preferred 
a  noisy  demand  and  a  row,  when  he  could  have 
called  a  policeman  and  given  the  disturber  of 
his  complacency  in  charge  and  so  got  rid  of  him. 
He,  the  Minister,  went  so  far  as  to  take  a  different 
station  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine  to  avoid  this 
trouble  of  his  conscience.  Thus  in  many  instances 
is  the  greatest  man's  life  made  wretched  by  some 
little  thing  of  no  account,  like  a  pebble  in  the 
seven-league  boots. 

But  Valmajour  would  not  despair. 

"  He  must  be  ill,"  he  said  to  himself  and  stuck 
obstinately  to  his  post.  At  home  his  sister  watched 
for  his  coming  in  a  fever  of  impatience. 

''Well, /^/./  have  you  seen  the  Menister?  Has 
he  signed  that  paper?" 

His  eternal  "•  No,  not  yet !  "   exasperated  her, 


The  Passage  du  Saumon,  127 

but  more  his  calmness  as  he  threw  Into  a  corner 
his  tabor-whose  strap  left  a  dent  on  his  shoulder 
—  it  was  the  calmness  of  indolence  and  shiftless- 
ness,  as  common  as  vivacity  among  Southern 
nations.  Then  the  queer  little  creature  would 
fall  into  one  of  her  furious  fits.  What  had  he 
in  his  veins  in  place  of  blood?  —  was  there  to 
be  no  end  to  this? —  *'  Look  out,  or  I  will  attend 
to  it  myself!  "  Very  calm,  he  made  no  answer, 
but  let  the  storm  blow  over,  took  his  instruments 
from  their  cases,  his  fife  and  mouth-piece  with 
its  ivory  tip,  and  rubbed  them  well  with  a  bit  of 
cloth  for  fear  of  dampness  and  promised  to  try 
at  the  Ministry  again  to-morrow,  and,  if  he  could 
not  see  Numa,  ask  to  see  Mme.  Roumestan. 

'*  O,  va'i !  Mme.  Roumestan  !  You  know  she 
does  not  like  your  music  —  but  the  young  lady, 
though  —  she  will  be  sure  to  help  you;  yes  in- 
deed !  "     And  she  tossed  her  head. 

"  Madame  or  Mademoiselle,  they  don't  either 
of  them  care  anything  about  you,"  said  the  old 
man,  who  was  cowering  over  a  turf  fire  that  his 
daughter  had  economically  covered  with  ashes, 
a  fire  about  which  they  were  eternally  quarrelling. 

In  the  bottom  of  his  heart  the  old  man  was  not 
displeased  at  his  son's  want  of  success,  from  pro- 
fessional jealousy.  All  these  complications  and 
the  uprooting  of  their  lives  had  been  most  wel- 
come to  the  Bohemian  tastes  of  the  old  wandering 
minstrel;  he  was  delighted  at  first  with  the  journey 
and  the  idea  of  seeing  Paris,  that  "  Paradise  of 
females  and  purgatory  of  bosses,"  as  the  carters 


128  Numa  Rotcmestan. 

of  his  country  put  it,  imagining  that  in  Paris  one 
would  see  women  hke  houris  arrayed  in  trans- 
parent garments  and  horses  distorted,  leaping 
about  in  the  midst,  of  flames. 

Instead  he  had  found  cold,  privations  and  rain. 
From  fear  of  Audiberte  and  respect  for  Roumes- 
tan  he  had  contented  himself  with  grumbling  and 
shivering  in  a  corner,  only  an  occasional  word  or 
wink  hinting  at  his  dissatisfaction.  But  Numa's 
treachery  and  his  daughter's  fits  of  wrath  gave 
him  also  an  excuse  for  opening  hostilities.  He 
revenged  himself  for  all  the  blows  to  his  vanity 
that  his  son's  musical  proficiency  had  inflicted  on 
him  for  ten  years  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  as 
he  heard  him  trying  his  fife. 

'*  Music,  music,  oh,  yes  —  much  good  your 
music  is  going  to  do  you  !  " 

And  then  in  a  loud  voice  he  asked  if  it  was  n't 
a  sin  to  bring  an  old  man  like  him  so  far  —  into 
this  Sibelia,  this  wilderness,  to  let  him  perish  of 
cold  and  hunger.  He  called  on  the  memory  of 
his  sainted  wife,  whom,  by  the  way,  he  had  killed 
with  unhappiness  —  ''  made  a  goat  of  her,"  as 
Audiberte  put  it.  He  would  whine  for  hours  at 
a  time,  his  head  in  the  fire,  red-faced  and  sullen, 
until  his  daughter,  wearied  with  his  lamentations, 
gave  him  a  few  pennies  and  sent  him  out  to  get 
a  glass  of  country  wine  for  himself  In  the  wine- 
shop his  sorrows  fled  away.  It  was  comfortable 
by  the  roaring  stove;  in  the  warmth  the  old 
wretch  soon  recovered  his  low  vein  of  an  actor 
in  Italian  comedy,  which  his  grotesque  figure,  big 


The  Passage  du  Saumon,  129 

nose  and  thin  lips  made  more  apparent,  taken  in 
connection  with  his  little  wiry  body,  like  Punch 
in  the  show. 

He  was  soon  the  delight  of  the  customers  in 
the  wine-shop  with  his  buffooneries  and  his  boast- 
ing. He  jeered  his  son's  tabor  and  told  them  how 
much  trouble  it  gave  them  at  the  hotel;  for  in 
order  to  be  ready  for  his  coming  out  Valmajour, 
kept  at  tension  by  the  delay  of  hopes,  persisted 
in  practising  up  to  midnight;  but  the  other  tenants 
objected  to  the  continual  thunder  of  the  tabor  and 
the  ear-piercing  cry  of  the  fife  —  the  very  stairs 
shook  with  the  sound,  as  if  an  engine  were  in 
motion  on  the  fifth  floor. 

"  Go  ahead,"  Audiberte  would  say  to  her  brother 
when  the  proprietor  came  to  them  with  complaints. 
It  was  pretty  queer  if  one  had  n't  the  right  to  make 
music  in  this  Paris  that  makes  so  much  noise  one 
cannot  sleep  at  night!  So  he  continued  to  prac- 
tise. Then  the  proprietor  demanded  their  rooms. 
But  when  they  left  the  Passage  du  Saumon,  the 
hostelry  so  well  known  in  their  native  province, 
one  that  recalled  their  native  land,  they  felt  as  if 
their  exile  were  heavier  to  bear  and  that  they  had 
journeyed  still  a  bit  farther  North. 

The  night  before  they  left,  after  another  long, 
unfruitful  journey  taken  by  Valmajour,  Audiberte 
hurried  her  men  through  dinner  without  speak- 
ing a  word,  but  with  the  light  of  firm  resolution 
shining  in  her  eyes.  When  it  was  over  she  threw 
her  long  brown  cloak  over  her  shoulders  and  went 
out,  leaving  the  washing  of  the  dishes  to  the  men. 

9 


130  Numa  Roumestan. 

"Two  months,  almost  two  months  since  we  came- 
to  Paris,"  she  muttered  through  her  clenched  teeth. 
"  I  've  had  enough,  I  am  going  to  speak  to  thiv. 
Menister  myself — " 

She  arranged  the  ribbon  of  her  head-dress,  that, 
perched  over  her  wavy  hair  in  high  bows,  stood  up 
like  a  helmet,  and  rushed  violently  from  the  room, 
her  well-blacked  boot-heels  kicking  at  every  step 
the  heavy  material  of  her  gown.  Father  and  son 
stared  at  each  other  alarmed,  but  did  not  dare  to 
restrain  her;  they  knew  that  any  interference 
would  but  exasperate  her  anger.  They  passed^ 
the  afternoon  alone  together,  hardly  speaking  as 
the  rain  battered  against  the  windows,  the  one 
polishing  his  bag  and  fife,  the  other  cooking  the 
stew  for  supper  over  a  good,  big  fire  that  he  took 
advantage  of  Audiberte's  absence  to  kindle,  and 
over  which  he  was  for  once  getting  thoroughly 
warm. 

Finally  her  quick  steps,  the  short  steps  of  a 
dwarf,  were  heard  in  the  corridor.  She  entered 
beaming. 

"  Too  bad  our  windows  do  not  look  out  upon 
the  street,"  she  said,  removing  her  cloak,  which 
was  perfectly  dry.  "You  might  have  seen  the 
beautiful  carriage  in  which  I  came  home." 

"  A  carriage  !  you  are  joking  !  " 

**  And  two  servants,  and  liveries  —  it  is  making  a 
great  stir  in  the  hotel !  " 

Then  in  a  wondering  silence  she  described  and 
acted  out  her  adventure.  In  the  first  place  and 
to  start  with  —  instead  of  going  to  the  Minister, 


The  Passage  du  Saumon,  131 

who  would  not  have  received  her,  she  found  out 
the  address  —  one  can  get  anything  if  one  talks 
politely  —  of  the  sister  of  Mme.  Roumestan,  the 
tall  young  lady  who  came  to  see  them  at  Valma- 
jour.  She  did  not  live  at  the  Ministry  but  with 
her  parents  in  a  quarter  full  of  little,  badly-paved 
streets  that  smelt  of  drugs  and  remiryded  Audiberte 
of  her  own  province.  It  was  ever  so  far  away  and 
she  was  obliged  to  walk.  She  found  the  place  at 
last  in  a  little  square  surrounded  with  arcades  like 
the  placette  at  Aps. 

The  dear  young  lady —  how  well  she  had  received 
her,  without  any  haughtiness,  although  everything 
looked  very  rich  and  handsome  in  the  house,  much 
gilding,  and  many  silken  curtains  hung  round  on 
this  side  and  that,  in  every  direction : 

"  Ah,  God  be  with  you  !  So  you  have  come  to 
Paris?     Where  from?     Since  when?" 

Then,  when  she  heard  how  Numa  had  disap- 
pointed them,  she  rang  for  her  governess,  she  too 
a  lady  in  a  bonnet,  and  all  three  set  off  for  the 
Ministry.  It  was  something  to  see  the  bows  and 
reverences  made  to  them  by  all  those  old  beadles 
who  ran  ahead  of  them  to  open  the  doors. 

"So  you  have  seen  him,  then,  the  Minister?" 
timidly  ventured  Valmajour  as  his  sister  stopped 
to  breathe. 

"  Seen  him  !  I  certainly  have ;  what  did  I  tell 
you,  you  poor  bedigas  (calf),  that  you  must  get 
the  young  lady  on  your  side !  She  arranged  the 
whole  thing  in  no  time.  There  is  to  be  a  great 
musical  function  next  week  at  the  Minister's  and 


132  Numa  Roumestan, 

you  are  to  play  before  the  directors  of  the  Con- 
servatory of  Music.  And  after  that,  cra-cra  !  the 
contract  drawn  up  and  signed !  " 

But  the  best  of  all  was  that  the  young  lady  had 
driven  her  home  in  the  carriage  of  the  Minister. 

"  And  she  was  very  anxious  to  come  upstairs  with 
me,"  added  the  peasant  girl,  winking  at  her  father 
and  distorting  her  pretty  face  with  a  meaning 
grimace.  The  father's  old  face,  with  its  complex- 
ion like  a  dried  fig,  wrinkled  up  in  a  look  of  slyness 
which  meant :  "  I  understand ;  not  a  word  !  "  He 
no  longer  taunted  the  taborist.  Valmajour  him^ 
self,  very  quiet,  did  not  understand  his  sister's  per- 
fidious meaning;  he  could  think  only  of  his  coming 
appearance,  and,  taking  down  his  instruments,  he 
passed  all  his  pieces  in  review,  sending  the  notes 
as  a  farewell  all  over  the  house  and  down  the 
glass-covered  passage  in  floods  of  trills  on  rolling 
cadences. 


Renewal  of  Youth,  133 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

RENEWAL  OF  YOUTH. 

The  Minister  and  his  wife  had  finished  breakfast 
in  their  dining-room  on  the  first  floor,  a  room  much 
too  big  and  showy,  that  never  could  be  thoroughly- 
thawed  out,  even  with  heavy  curtains  and  the  heat 
of  a  furnace  that  warmed  the  whole  house,  and 
the  steam  from  the  hot  dishes  of  a  copious  repast. 
By  some  chance  that  morning  they  were  alone 
together.  On  the  table  amidst  the  dessert,  always 
a  great  feature  in  the  Southerner's  meal,  lay  a  box 
of  cigars  and  a  cup  of  vervain,  which  is  the  tea  of 
the  Provencal,  and  large  boxes  filled  with  cards  of 
invitation  to  a  series  of  concerts  to  be  given  by 
the  Minister.  They  were  addressed  to  senators, 
deputies,  clergymen,  professors,  academicians, 
people  of  society  —  all  the  motley  crowd  that  is 
generally  bidden  to  public  receptions ;  and  some 
larger  boxes  for  the  cards  to  the  privileged  guests 
asked  to  the  first  series  of  *'  little  concerts." 

Mme.  Roumestan  was  running  them  over,  occa- 
sionally pausing  at  some  name,  watched  by  her 
husband  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  as  he  pre- 
tended to  be  absorbed  in  selecting  a  cigar,  while 
really  his  furtive  glance  was  noting  the  disappro- 


134  Numa  Roumestan, 

bation  and  reserve  on  her  quiet  face  at  the  promis- 
cuous way  this  first  batch  of  invitations  had  been 
selected. 

But  Rosalie  asked  no  questions ;  all  these  prepa- 
rations did  not  interest  her.  Since  their  installa- 
tion at  the  Ministry  she  had  felt  herself  farther  off 
than  ever  from  her  husband,  separated  by  his  many 
engagements,  too  many  guests  and  a  public  way 
of  living  that  had  destroyed  all  intimacy.  To  this 
was  added  the  ever-bitter  sorrow  of  childlessness ; 
never  to  hear  about  her  the  pattering  of  tireless 
little  feet,  nor  any  of  those  peals  of  baby  laughter 
that  would  have  banished  from  their  dining-room 
that  icy  look  as  if  a  hotel  where  they  were  stopping 
for  a  day  or  two,  with  its  impersonal  air  on  table- 
cloth, furniture,  silver  and  all  the  sumptuous  things 
to  be  found  in  any  public  place. 

In  the  embarrassing  silence  could  be  heard  the 
distant  sound  of  hammers  interspersed  with  music 
and  singing.  The  musicians  were  rehearsing,  while 
carpenters  were  busy  putting  up  and  hanging  the 
stage  on  which  the  concert  was  to  take  place. 
The  door  opened ;  Mejean  entered,  his  hands  full 
of  papers. 

"  Still  more  petitions  !  " 

Roumestan  flew  into  a  rage :  No,  it  was  really 
too  bad  !  —  if  it  were  the  Pope  himself  there  would 
be  no  place  to  give  him.  Mejean  calmly  placed 
before  him  the  heap  of  letters,  cards  and  scented 
notes : 

"  It  is  very  difficult  to  refuse  —  you  promised 
them,  you  know  —  " 


Renewal  of  Youth.  135 

"I  promised?  I  haven't  spoken  to  one  of 
them !  " 

''Listen  a  moment:  'My  dear  Minister  —  I  beg 
to  remind  you  of  your  kind  speech,'  and  this  one, 
*  The  General  informs  me  that  you  were  so  kind 
as  to  offer  him/  and  this,  '  Reminding  the  Minister 
of  his  promise.'  " 

"  I  must  be  a  somnambuHst,  then !  "  said  Rou- 
mestan  in  astonishment. 

The  fact  was  that  as  soon  as  the  day  for  the 
concert  was  decided  upon  Numa  had  said  to  every 
one  whom  he  met  in  the  Senate  or  Chamber:  "I 
count  on  you  for  the  loth,  you  know,"  and  as  he 
added  "  Quite  a  private  affair,"  no  one  had  failed 
to  accept  the  flattering  invitation. 

Embarrassed  at  being  caught  in  the  act  by 
his  wife,  he  vented  his  irritability  upon  her  as 
usual. 

"  It 's  the  fault  of  your  sister  with  her  taborist. 
What  need  have  I  of  all  this  fuss?  I  did  not  intend 
to  give  our  concerts  until  much  later  —  but  that 
girl,  such  an  impatient  little  person !  '  No,  no, 
right  away;  '  and  you  were  in  as  much  of  a  hurry 
as  she  was!  Vaz^ me  fiche  if  I  don't  believe  this 
taborist  has  turned  your  heads." 

"  O  no,  not  mine,"  answered  Rosalie  gayly. 
"  Indeed  I  am  dreadfully  afraid  that  this  foreign 
music  may  not  be  understood  by  the  Parisians. 
We  ought  to  have  brought  the  atmosphere  of 
Provence,  the  costumes,  the  farandole  —  but  first 
of  all,"  she  added  seriously,  "  it  is  necessary  that 
you  must  keep  your  promise." 


136  Nu7na  Roumestan, 

"  Promise,  promise?  It  will  be  impossible  to 
talk  at  all  very  soon  !  " 

Turning  towards  his  secretary,  who  was  smiling, 
he  added: 

**  By  Jove,  all  Southerners  are  not  like  you, 
Mejean,  cold  and  calculating  and  taciturn.  You 
are  a  false  one,  a  renegade  Southerner,  a  Francioty 
as  they  say  with  us.  A  Southerner?  —  you?  A 
man  who  has  never  lied  and  who  does  not  like 
vervain  tea ! "  he  added  with  a  comically  indignant 
tone. 

"  I  am  not  so  franciot  as  I  seem,  sir,"  answered 
Mejean  calmly.  **  When  I  first  came  to  Paris 
twenty  years  ago  I  was  a  terrible  Southerner  — 
impudence,  gesticulations,  assurance  —  as  talkative 
and  inventive  as  —  " 

"As  Bompard,"  prompted  Roumestan,  who  never 
liked  other  people  to  ridicule  his  dearest  friend, 
but  did  not  deny  himself  the  privilege. 

*'  Yes,  really,  almost  as  bad  as  Bompard.  A 
kind  of  instinct  urged  me  never  to  tell  the  truth. 
One  day  I  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  this  and 
resolved  to  correct  it.  Outward  exaggeration 
could  be  mastered  at  least  by  speaking  in  a  low 
voice  and  keeping  my  arms  pressed  tightly  against 
my  sides ;  but  the  inward  —  the  boiling,  bub- 
bling torrent  —  that  was  more  difficult.  Then  I 
made  an  heroic  resolution.  Every  time  I  caught 
myself  in  an  untruth  I  punished  myself  by  not 
speaking  for  the  rest  of  the  day ;  that  is  how  I  was 
able  to  reform  my  nature.  Nevertheless  the  in- 
stinct is  there  under  all  my  coolness.     Sometimes 


Renewal  of  Youth,  137 

I  have  broken  off  short  in  the  middle  of  a  sen- 
tence —  it  is  n't  the  words  I  lack,  quite  the  con- 
trary—  I  hold  myself  in  check  because  I  feel  that 
I  am  going  to  lie." 

"  The  terrible  South  —  there  is  no  way  of  escap- 
ing from  it !  "  said  the  genial  Numa,  philosophically, 
blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke  from  his  cigar  up  to  the 
ceiling.  "  The  South  holds  me  through  the  mania 
I  have  to  make  promises,  that  craziness  of  throwing 
myself  at  people's  heads  and  insisting  on  their  hap- 
piness whether  they  want  it  or  not  —  " 

A  footman  interrupted  him,  opened  the  door 
and  announced  with  a  knowing  and  confidential 
air: 

"  M.  Bechut  is  here." 

The  Minister  was  furious  at  once.  '*  Tell  him  I 
am  at  breakfast!  I  wish  people  would  let  me 
alone." 

The  footman  asked  pardon,  but  said  M.  Bechut 
claimed  that  he  had  an  appointment  with  his  Ex- 
cellency.    Roumestan  softened  visibly : 

''  Well,  well,  I  will  come.  Let  him  wait  in  the 
library." 

**  Not  in  the  library,"  said  Mejean,  ''  it  is  occu- 
pied ;  there 's  the  Superior  Council !  You  ap- 
pointed this  hour  to  see  them." 

"Well,  in  M.  de  Lappara's  room,  then  —  " 

"  I  have  put  the  Bishop  of  Tulle  in  there,"  said 
the  footman  timidly ;   "  your  Excellency  said  —  " 

Every  place  was  occupied  with  office-seekers 
whom  he  had  confidentially  told  that  the  breakfast 
hour  was  the  time  when  they  would  be  sure  to  find 


138  Numa  Roumestan. 

him  —  and  most  of  them  were  personages  that 
could  not  be  made  to  ''  do  antechamber  "  Hke  the 
ordinary  herd. 

'•  Go  into  my  morning  room,"  said  Rosalie  as 
she  rose.     "  I  am  going  out." 

And  while  the  secretary  and  the  footman  went 
to  reassure  and  quiet  the  waiting  petitioners  Numa 
hastily  swallowed  his  cup  of  vervain,  scalding  him- 
self badly,  exclaiming :  ''  I  am  at  my  wits'  end, 
overwhelmed." 

"  What  can  that  sorry  fellow  Bechut  be  after 
now?"  asked  Rosalie,  instinctively  lowering  her 
voice  in  that  crowded  house  where  a  stranger  was 
lurking  behind  every  door." 

"  What  is  he  after?  After  the  manager's  posi- 
tion of  course.  /"/.Oie  is  Dansaert's  shark  — 
he  expects  him  to  be  thrown  overboard  for  him  to 
devour." 

She  approached  him  hastily : 

"  Is  M.  Dansaert  to  be  dropped  from  the  Cabi- 
net?" 

**  Do  you  Icnow  him?  " 

"  My  father  often  spoke  of  him  —  he  was  a  com- 
patriot and  old  friend  of  his.  He  considers  him  an 
upright  man  and  very  clever." 

Roumestan  stammered  out  his  reasons :  "  Bad 
tendencies  —  free-thinker  —  it  was  necessary  to 
make  reforms,  and  then,  he  was  a  very  old  man." 

''  And  you  will  put  Bechut  in  his  place  ? " 

"  O,  I  know  the  poor  man  lacks  the  gift  of 
pleasing  the  ladies." 

She  smiled  a  fine  scornful  smile. 


Renewal  of  Youth,  139 

"  His  impertinences  are  as  indifferent  to  me  as 
his  compliments  would  be.  What  I  cannot  forgive 
in  him  is  his  assumption  of  clerical  learning  and 
piety.  I  respect  all  forms  of  religion  —  but  if  there 
is  one  thing  more  detestable  in  this  world  than  an- 
other, it  is  hypocrisy  and  deceit." 

Unconsciously  her  voice  rose  warm  and  vibrat- 
ing; her  rather  cold  features  beamed  with  a  glow 
of  honesty  and  rectitude  and  flushed  with  righteous 
indignation. 

'*  Hush,  hush,"  said  Numa  pointing  towards  the 
door.  Perhaps  it  was  not  perfectly  just ;  he  allowed 
that  old  Dansaert  had  rendered  good  service  to 
his  country ;  but  what  was  to  be  done }  He  had 
given  his  word. 

**  Take  it  back  "  said  Rosalie.  "  Come,  Numa, 
for  my  sake  —  I  implore  you  !  " 

The  tender  request  was  emphasized  by  the 
gentle  pressure  of  her  little  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
He  was  much  touched.  His  wife  had  not  seemed 
interested  in  his  affairs  of  late;  she  had  given 
only  an  indulgent  but  silent  attention  to  his  plans, 
which  were  ever  changing  their  direction.  This 
urgent  request  was  flattering  to  him. 

"  Can  any  one  resist  you,  my  darling?" 

He  pressed  upon  her  finger  tips  a  kiss  so  fervid 
that  she  felt  it  all  up  her  narrow  sleeve.  She  had 
such  beautiful  arms  !  It  was  most  painful,  however, 
to  say  anything  disagreeable  to  a  man's  face  and 
he  rose  reluctantly : 

"  I  will  be  here,  listening !  "  she  said  with  a 
pretty  threatening  gesture. 


140  Numa  Roumestmi, 

He  went  into  the  next  room,  leaving  the  door 
ajar  to  giv^e  himself  courage  and  so  that  she  might 
hear  all  that  was  said.  Oh,  the  beginning  was 
firm  and  to  the  point! 

*'I  am  in  despair,  my  dear  B6chut  —  but  it  is 
utterly  impossible  for  me  to  do  for  you  as  I 
promised  — " 

The  answer  of  the  professor  was  inaudible,  but 
rendered  in  a  tearful,  supplicating  voice  through 
his  huge  tapir-like  nose.  To  her  surprise  Roumes- 
tan  did  not  waver,  but  began  to  sound  the  praises 
of  Dansaert  with  a  surprising  accent  of  conviction 
for  a  man  to  whom  all  his  arguments  had  only 
just  been  suggested.  True,  it  was  very  hard  for 
him  to  take  back  a  promise  once  given,  but  was  it 
not  better  than  to  do  an  act  of  injustice?  It  was 
his  wife's  thought  modulated  and  put  to  music 
and  uttered  with  wide,  heartfelt  gestures  that  made 
the  hangings  vibrate. 

**  Of  course  I  will  make  up  to  you  in  some  way 
this  little  misunderstanding,"  he  added,  changing 
his  tone  hastily. 

*'  Oh,  good  Lord ! "  cried  Rosalie  under  her 
breath.  Then  came  a  shower  of  new  promises  — the 
cross  of  commander  in  the  Legion  of  Honor  on  the 
first  of  January  next,  the  next  vacancy  in  the  Supe- 
rior Council,  the  —  the  —  Bechut  tried  to  protest, 
just  for  decency's  sake,  but  said  Numa:  "Permit 
me,  permit  me,  it 's  only  an  act^of  justice  —  such 
men  as  you  are  too  uncommon  —  " 

Intoxicated  with  his  own  benevolence,  stammer- 
ing from  sheer   affectionateness  —  if  B6chut    had 


Renewal  of  Youth,  141 

not  gone  Numa  would  have  offered  him  his  own 
portfolio  next.  But  suddenly  remembering  the 
concert,  he  called  to  him   from  the  door: 

*'  I  count  on  seeing  you  next  Sunday,  my  dear 
professor ;  we  are  starting  a  series  of  little  concerts, 
very  unceremonious  you  know  —  the  very  '  top  of 
the  basket '  —  " 

Then  returning  to  Rosalie,  he  said : 

*'  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  I  hope  I  have 
been  firm  enough  !  " 

It  was  really  so  amusing  that  she  burst  into  a 
peal  of  laughter.  When  he  understood  her  amuse- 
ment and  that  he  had  made  a  number  of  new 
promises,  he  seemed  alarmed. 

"  Well,  well,  people  are  grateful  to  one  all  the 
same." 

She  left  him,  smiling  one  of  her  old  smiles,  quite 
gay  from  her  kind  deed  and  perhaps  above  all 
delighted  to  find  a  feeling  for  him  reviving  in  her 
heart  that  she  had  long  thought  dead. 

"Angel  that  you  are !  "  said  Numa  to  himself  as 
he  watched  her  go,  tears  of  tenderness  in  his  eyes ; 
and  when  Mejean  came  in  to  remind  him  of  the 
waiting  council : 

"  My  friend,  Hsten :  when  one  has  the  luck  to 
possess  a  wife  like  mine  —  marriage  is  an  earthly 
Paradise.     Hurry  up  and  marry  !  " 

Mejean  shook  his  head  without  answering. 

*'  How  now?     Is  n't  your  affair  prospering?  " 

"  I  fear  not.  Mme.  Roumestan  promised  to 
sound  her  sister  for  me,  but  as  she  has  never  said 
anything  more  —  " 


142  Numa  Roumestan, 

'*  Don't  you  want  me  to  manage  it  for  you?  \ 
get  on  splendidly  with  my  little  sister-in-law  ...  I 
bet  you  I  can  make  her  decide  ..." 

There  was  still  a  little  vervain  left  in  the  teapot, 
and  as  he  poured  out  a  fresh  cup  Roumestan  over- 
flowed with  protestations  to  his  first  secretary. 
*'Ah!  no,  success  had  not  altered  him;  as  always, 
M^jean  was  his  best,  his  chosen  friend !  Between 
him  and  Rosalie  he  indeed  felt  himself  stronger 
and  more  complete.  .  .  . 

**  O,  my  friend,  that  woman,  that  woman — if  you 
only  knew  what  her  goodness  is  !  how  noble  and 
forgiving  !    When  I  think  that  I  was  capable  of — " 

Positively  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  restrained 
himself  from  launching  the  confidence  that  rose  to 
his  lips  along  with  a  heavy  sigh.  *'  If  I  did  not 
love  her,  I  should  be  guilty  indeed." 

Baron  de  Lappara  came  in  quickly  and  whis- 
pered with  a  mysterious  air: 

^'  Mile.  Bachellery  is  here." 

Numa  turned  scarlet  and  a  flash  dried  the  ten- 
derness from  his  eyes  in  a  moment. 

"  Where  is  she?     In  your  room?" 

"  Monsignor  Lipmann  was  there  already,"  said 
Lappara,  smiling  a  little  at  the  idea  of  the  possible 
meeting.  "  I  put  her  downstairs  in  the  large 
drawing-room.     The  rehearsal  is  over." 

''Very  well;   I  will  go." 

"■  Don't  forget  the  Council,"  Mejean  tried  to  say, 
but  Roumestan  did  not  hear  and  sprang  down  the 
steep  stairway  leading  to  the  Minister's  private 
apartments  on  the  reception  floor. 


Renewal  of  Youth,  143 

He  had  steered  clear  of  serious  entanglements 
since  the  trouble  over  Mme.  d'Escarbes,  avoid- 
ing adventures  of  the  heart  or  of  vanity,  because 
he  feared  an  open  rupture  that  might  ruin  his 
household  forever.  He  was  not  a  model  husband, 
certainly,  but  the  marriage  contract,  though  soiled 
and  full  of  holes,  was  still  intact.  Though  once 
well  warned,  Rosalie  was  much  too  honest  and 
high-minded  to  spy  jealously  upon  her  husband, 
and  although  she  was  always  anxious,  never  sought 
for  proofs.  Even  at  that  moment,  if  Numa  had 
had  any  idea  of  the  influence  this  new  fancy  of 
his  was  to  have  upon  his  life,  he  would  have  has- 
tened to  ascend  the  stairs  rriuch  more  quickly 
than  he  had  come  down  them ;  but  our  destiny 
delights  to  come  to  us  in  mask  and  domino, 
doubling  the  pleasure  of  the  first  meeting  with 
the  touch  of  mystery.  How  could  Numa  divine 
that  any  danger  threatened  from  the  pretty  little 
girl  whom  he  had  seen  from  his  carriage  window 
crossing  the  courtyard  several  days  before,  jump- 
ing over  the  puddles,  holding  her  umbrella  in  one 
hand  and  her  coquettish  skirts  gathered  up  in  the 
other,  with  all  the  smartness  of  a  true  Parisian 
woman,  her  long  lashes  curving  above  a  saucy, 
turned-up  nose,  her  blond  hair,  twisted  in  an 
American  knot  behind,  which  the  moist  air  had 
turned  to  curls  at  the  ends,  and  her  shapely,  finely- 
curved  leg  quite  at  ease  above  her  high-heeled 
boot  —  that  was  all  he  had  seen  of  her.  So  dur- 
ing the  evening  he  had  said  to  De  Lappara  as  if  it 
were  a  matter  of  very  little  importance ; 


144  Numa  Roumestan. 

"  I  will  wager,  that  little  charmer  I  met  in  the 
courtyard  this  morning  was  on  her  way  to  see 
you." 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency,  she  came  to  see  me, 
but  it  was  on  your  account  she  came." 

And  then  he  had  named  little  Bachellery. 

""  What !  the  debutante  at  the  Bouffes  ?  How  old 
is  she?     Why,  she 's  hardly  more  than  a  child  !  " 

The  papers  were  talking  a  great  deal  that  winter 
about  this  Alice  Bachellery,  whom  a  fashionable 
impresario  had  discovered  in  a  small  theatre  in 
the  provinces,  whom  all  the  world  was  crowding, 
to  hear  when  she  sang  the  *'  Little  Baker's  Boy," 
the  chorus  to  which  — 

"  Hot,  hot,  little  oat-cakes  "  — 

she  gave  with  an  irresistible  drollery.  She  was 
one  of  those  divas  half  a  dozen  of  whom  the 
boulevard  devours  each  season,  paper  reputations 
inflated  by  gas  and  puffery,  which  make  one  think 
of  the  little  rose-colored  balloons  that  live  their 
single  day  of  sunshine  and  dust  in  the  public 
gardens.  And  what  think  you  she  had  come  to 
ask  for  at  the  Minister's?  Permission  to  appear 
on  the  programme  at  his  first  concert !  Little 
Bachellery  and  the  Department  of  Public  Instruc- 
tion !  It  was  so  amusing  and  so  crazy  that  Numa 
wanted  to  hear  her  ask  it  himself;  so  by  a  Minis- 
terial letter  that  smelt  of  the  leather  and  gloves 
of  the  orderly  who  took  it  he  gave  her  to  under- 
stand that  he  would  receive  her  next  day.  But 
the  next  day  Mile.  Bachellery  did  not  appear. 


Renewal  of  Youth,  145 

*'  She  must  have  changed  her  mind,"  said  Lap- 
para,  '*  she  is  such  a  child !  " 

But  Roumestan  felt  piqued,  did  not  mention  the 
subject  for  two  days  and  on  the  third  sent  for  her. 

And  now  she  was  awaiting  him  in  the  great 
drawing-room  for  official  functions,  all  in  gold  and 
red,  so  imposing  with  its  long  windows  opening 
into  the  garden  now  bereft  of  flowers,  its  Gobelin 
tapestries  and  its  marble  statue  of  Moliere  sitting 
in  a  dreamy  posture  in  the  background.  A 
grand  piano,  a  few  music-stands  used  at  the  re- 
hearsal, scarcely  filled  one  corner  of  the  big  room 
whose  dreary  air,  like  an  empty  museum,  would 
have  disconcerted  any  one  but  httle  Bachellery; 
but  then  she  was  such  a  child ! 

Tempted  by  the  broad  floor,  all  waxed ,  and 
shiny,  here  she  was,  amusing  herself  by  taking 
slides  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other, 
wrapped  in  her  furs,  her  hands  in  a  mufl"  too  small 
for  them,  her  little  nose  upraised  under  her  jaunty 
pork-pie  hat,  looking  like  one  of  the  dancers  of 
the  "  ice  ballet "  in  The  Prophet.  Roumestan 
caught  her  at  the  game. 

"Oh!     Your  Excellency!" 

She  was  dreadfully  embarrassed,  her  eyelashes 
quivering,  all  out  of  breath.  He  had  come  in 
with  his  head  up  and  a  solemn  step  in  order  to 
give  some  point  to  a  somewhat  irregular  interview 
and  put  this  impertinent  huzzy,  who  had  kept 
Ministers  waiting,  in  her  proper  place.  But  the 
sight  of  her  quite  disarmed  him.  What  could  you 
expect? 

10 


146  Numa  Roumestan, 

She  laid  her  simple  ambition  so  cleverly  before 
him  as  an  idea  that  had  come  to  her  suddenly,  to 
appear  at  the  concerts  which  every  one  was  talk- 
ing about  so  much  —  it  would  be  of  so  much  ad- 
vantage to  her  to  be  heard  otherwise  than  in 
comic  opera  and  music  hall  extravaganzas,  which 
bored  her  to  death !  But  then,  on  reflection,  a 
panic  had  seized  her:  "Oh,  I  tell  you,  a  regular 
panic!     Wasn't  it,  Mamma?" 

Then  for  the  first  time  Roumestan  perceived 
a  stout  woman  in  a  velvet  cloak  and  a  much 
beplumed  bonnet  advancing  toward  him  with 
regular  reverences  every  three  steps.  Mme. 
Bachellery,  the  mother,  had  been  a  singer  in  a 
concert-garden.  She  had  the  Bordeaux  accent, 
a  little  nose  like  her  daughter's  sunk  in  a  large 
face  Hke  a  dish  —  one  of  those  terrible  mothers, 
who,  in  the  company  of  their  daughters,  seem 
the  hideous  prophecy  of  what  their  beauty  will 
come  to !  But  Numa  was  not  engaged  in  a  philo- 
sophical study.  He  was  too  much  engrossed  by 
the  grace  of  this  hoyden  that  shone  from  a  fin- 
ished body,  a  body  adorably  finished,  as  well  as 
by  her  theatrical  slang  mingled  with  her  child- 
like laugh,  "  her  sixteen-year-old  laugh,"  as  the 
ladies  of  her  acquaintance  called  it. 

"  Sixteen !  then  how  old  could  she  have  been 
when  she  went  on  the  stage?" 

"  She  was  born  there,  your  Excellency.  Her 
father,  now  retired,  was  the  manager  of  the  Folies 
Bordelaises." 

•'  A  daughter  of  the  regiment,"  said  Alice,  show- 


Renewal  of  Youth,  147 

ing  thirty-two  sparkling  teeth,  as  close  and  evenly 
ranked  as  soldiers  on  parade. 

"Alice,  Alice,  you  forget  yourself  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  Excellency." 

*'  Let  her  alone  —  she  is  only  a  child  !  " 

He  made  her  sit  down  by  him  on  the  sofa  in  a 
kindly,  almost  paternal  manner,  complimented  her 
on  her  ambition  and  her  sentiment  for  real  art, 
her  desire  to  escape  from  the  easy  and  demoral- 
izing successes  of  comic  opera;  but  then  she 
would  have  to  work  hard  and  study  seriously. 

"  O,  as  for  that,"  she  answered,  brandishing  a 
roll  of  music,  "  I  study  two  hours  every  day  with 
Mme.  Vauters." 

*' Mme.  Vauters?  Yes,  hers  is  an  excellent 
method,"  and  he  opened  the  roll  of  music  and 
examined  its  contents  with  a  knowing  air. 

"  What  are  we  singing  now?  Aha!  The  waltz 
of  Mireilley  the  song  of  Magali.  Why,  they  are 
the  songs  of  my  part  of  the  country !  " 

He  half  closed  his  eyes  and  keeping  time  with 
his  head  he  began  softly  to  hum : 

"  O  Magali,  ma  bien-aimde, 
Fuyons  tous  deux  sous  la  ramde 
Au  fond  du  bois  silencieux.  .  .  ." 

And  she  took  it  up : 

"  La  nuit  sur  nous  dtend  ses  voiles 
Et  tes  beaux  yeux  —  " 

And  Roumestan  sang  out  loud : 

"  Vont  faire  palir  les  ^toiles.  .  .  ." 


148  Numa  Roumesta7i, 

"•  Do  wait  a  moment,"  she  cried,  **  Mamma  will 
play  us  the  accompaniment." 

Pushing  aside  the  music-stands  and  opening 
the  piano,  she  led  her  reluctant  mother  to  the 
piano-stool.  Ah,  she  was  such  a  determined  little 
person  !  The  Minister  hesitated  a  moment  with 
his  finger  on  the  page  of  the  duet  —  what  if  any 
one  should  hear  them?  Never  mind;  there  had 
been  rehearsals  going  on  every  day  in  the  big 
salon.  .  .  .  They  began. 

They  were  singing  together  from  the  same  sheet 
of  music  as  they  stood,  while  Mme.  Bachellery 
played  from  memory.  Their  heads  were  almost 
touching,  their  breaths  mingled  together  with 
caressing  modulations  of  the  music.  Numa  got 
excited  and  dramatic,  raising  his  arms  to  bring 
out  the  high  notes.  For  many  years  now,  ever 
since  his  political  hfe  had  absorbed  him,  he  had 
done  more  talking  than  singing.  His  voice  had 
become  heavy  like  his  figure,  but  he  still  loved  to 
sing,  especially  with  this  child. 

He  had  completely  forgotten  the  Bishop  of 
Tulle  and  the  Superior  Council  which  was  wearily 
awaiting  him  round  the  big  green  table.  Several 
times  the  pallid  face  of  the  chamberlain  on  duty, 
his  official  silver  chain  clanking,  peered  into  the 
room  but  quickly  disappeared  again,  terrified 
lest  he  should  be  caught  gazing  at  the  Minister 
of  Public  Instruction  and  Religions  singing  a  duet 
with  an  actress  from  one  of  the  minor  theatres. 
But  a  Minister  Numa  was  no  longer,  only  Vincent 
the   basket-maker   pursuing   the    unapproachable 


Renewal  of  Youth,  149 

Magali  through  all  her  cbquettlsh  transformations. 
And  how  well  she  fled !  how  well,  with  childish 
malice,  she  did  make  her  escape,  her  ringing 
laughter  clear  as  pearls  rippling  over  her  sharp 
little  teeth,  until  at  last,  overcome,  she  yields  and 
her  mad  little  head,  made  dizzy  by  her  rapid 
course,  sinks  on  her  lover's  shoulder !  .  .  . 

Mme.  Bachellery  broke  the  charm  and  recalled 
them  to  their  senses  as  soon  as  the  song  was 
finished.     Turning  round,  she  cried: 

**  What  a  voice,  Excellency !  What  a  noble 
voice !  " 

**  Yes,  I  used  to  sing  when  I  was  young "  he 
said,  somewhat  fatuously. 

"But  you  still  sing  maganifisuntly  !  Say,  Baby, 
what  a  contrast  to  M.  de  Lappara ! " 

Baby,  who  was  rolling  up  her  music,  shrugged 
her  shoulders  as  much  as  to  say,  that  was  too 
much  of  a  truism  to  be  discussed  or  to  need  further 
answer.     A  little  anxious,  Roumestan  asked: 

'*  Indeed?     M.  de  Lappara?" 

"  O,  he  sometimes  comes  to  eat  boiiillabaise 
with  us ;  then  after  dinner  Baby  and  he  sing  duets 
together." 

Hearing  the  music  no  longer,  the  chamberlain 
ventured  at  last  into  the  room,  as  cautiously  as  a 
lion-tamer  going  into  a  cage  of  lions. 

*'  Yes,  yes,  I  am  coming,"  said  Roumestan,  and 
addressing  the  little  actress  with  his  best  "  Excel- 
lency air  "  in  order  to  make  her  feel  the  difference 
in  position  between  him  and  his  secretary: 

"  I  am  very  much   pleased  with  your  singing, 


150  Numa  Roumestan, 

Mademoiselle;  you  have  a  great  deal  of  talent,  a 
great  deal !  And  if  you  care  to  sing  for  us  on 
Sunday  next,  I  gladly  grant  you  that  favor." 

She  gave  a  joyful,  childlike  cry:  "  Really?  O, 
how  lovely  of  you  !  "  —  and  in  an  instant  flung  her 
arms  about  his  neck. 

"  Alice  !  Alice  !  Well,  I  declare  !  "  cried  her 
mother. 

But  she  was  gone ;  she  had  taken  flight  through 
the  great  rooms  where  she  looked  so  tiny  in  the 
long  perspective  —  a  child  !  O,  such  a  perfect 
child ! 

Much  agitated  by  her  caress,  Roumestan  paused 
a  few  moments  before  he  went  upstairs.  Outside 
in  the  wintry  garden  one  pale  sun-ray  shone  on 
the  withered  lawn  and  seemed  to  warm  and  revive 
the  winter.  He  felt  penetrated  to  the  heart  by  a 
similar  warmth  as  if  the  contact  with  this  supple 
youthful  form  communicated  some  of  its  spring- 
like vitality  to  him.  "■  Ah !  how  charming  is 
youth !  " 

Instinctively  he  glanced  at  himself  in  the  mirror ; 
a  mournfulness  came  over  him  that  he  had  not  felt 
for  years.  How  changed  things  were,  boun  Dioti  ! 
He  had  grown  very  stout  from  want  of  exercise, 
much  sitting  at  his  desk  and  the  too  constant  use 
of  his  carriage ;  his  complexion  was  injured  by 
staying  up  late  at  night,  his  hair  thin  and  grizzled 
at  the  temples;  he  was  even  more  horrified  at  the 
fatness  of  his  cheeks  and  the  vast  flat  expanse  be- 
tween his  nose  and  his  ears.  "  I  have  a  mind  to 
grow  a  beard  to  cover  that."      But  then  the  beard 


Renewal  of  Youth.  151 

would  be  white  —  and  yet  he  was  only  forty-five. 
Alas,  politics  age  one  so ! 

He  was  suffering  there,  in  those  few  moments, 
the  frightful  anguish  a  woman  feels  when  she  real- 
izes that  all  is  over  —  her  power  of  inspiring  love 
is  gone,  while  her  own  power  to  love  still  remains. 
His  reddened  lids  swelled  with  tears  ;  there  in  the 
midst  of  his  masterful  place  this  sorrow  profoundly 
human,  in  which  ambition  had  no  part,  seemed  to 
him  bitter  almost  beyond  endurance.  But  with 
his  usual  versatility  of  feeling  he  consoled  himself 
quickly  by  thinking  of  his  talents,  his  fame  and 
his  high  position.  Were  they  not  just  as  strong 
as  beauty  or  as  youth  in  order  to  make  him  loved? 

**  Come,  come  !  " 

He  quite  despised  himself  for  his  folly,  and,  driv- 
ing off  his  troubles  with  the  customary  jerk  of  his 
shoulder,  went  upstairs  to  dismiss  the  Council,  for 
he  had  no  time  left  to  preside  to-day. 

**  What  has  happened  to  you,  my  dear  Excel- 
lency, you  seem  to  have  renewed  your  youth?" 

This  question  was  asked  him  a  dozen  times  in 
the  lobby  of  the  Chambers,  where  his  good  humor 
was  remarked  upon  and  where  he  caught  him- 
self humming,  "  O  Magali,  my  well-beloved."  Sit- 
ting on  the  Bench  he  listened  with  an  attention 
most  flattering  to  the  speaker  during  a  long-winded 
discourse  about  the  tariff,  smiling  beatifically  be- 
neath his  lowered  eyelids. 

So  the  Left,  whom  his  character  for  astuteness 
held  in  awe,  said  timidly  one  to  the  other :     "  Let 


152  Numa  Roumestan. 

us  hold  fast,  Roumestan  is  preparing  a  coup  !  " 
In  reality  he  was  engaged  in  bringing  before  his 
mental  vision,  through  the  empty  hum  of  the 
wearying  discourse,  the  outlines  of  little  Bachel- 
lery,  trotting  her  out,  as  it  were,  before  the  Minis- 
terial Bench,  passing  her  attractions  in  review,  her 
hair  waving  like  a  golden  net  across  her  brow,  her 
wild-rose  complexion,  her  bewitching  air  of  a  girl 
who  was  already  a  woman ! 

Nevertheless,  that  evening  he  had  another  attack 
of  moodiness  on  the  train  returning  from  Versailles 
with  some  of  his  colleagues  of  the  Cabinet.  In 
the  heated  carriage  where  every  one  was  smoking 
they  were  discussing,  in  the  free  and  easy  manner 
that  Numa  always  carried  about  with  him,  a  cer- 
tain orange-colored  velvet  bonnet  in  the  diplo- 
mats' gallery  that  framed  a  pale  Creole  face;  it 
had  proved  an  agreeable  diversion  from  the  tariff 
question  and  caused  all  the  honorable  noses  to 
rise,  just  as  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  butterfly 
in  a  school-room  will  fix  the  attention  of  the  class 
In  the  middle  of  a  Greek  lesson.  Who  was  she? 
No  one  knew. 

"  You  must  ask  the  General,"  said  Numa  gayly, 
turning  to  the  Marquis  d'Espaillon  d'Aubord,  Min- 
ister of  War,  an  old  rake,  tireless  in  love.  **  That  *s 
all  right  —  do  not  try  to  get  out  of  it  —  she 
never  looked  at  any  one  but  you." 

The  General  cut  a  sinister  grimace  that  caused 
his  old  yellow  goat's  moustache  to  fly  up  under 
his  nose  as  if  it  were  moved  by  springs. 

**  It  is  a  good  while  since  women  have  bothered 


Renewal  of  Youth,  153 

themselves  about  me  —  they  only  care  for  bucks 
Hke  that !  " 

In  this  extremely  choice  language  peculiar  to 
noblemen  and  soldiers  he  indicated  young  De 
Lappara,  sitting  modestly  in  a  corner  of  the  car- 
riage with  Numa's  portfolio  on  his  lap,  respect- 
fully silent  in  the  company  of  the  big-wigs. 

Roumestan  felt  piqued,  he  did  not  know  exactly 
why,  and  replied  hotly.  In  his  opinion  there  were 
many  other  things  that  women  preferred  to  youth 
in  a  man. 

"  They  tell  you  that,  of  course." 

**  I  ask  the  opinion  of  these  gentlemen." 

These  gentlemen  were  all  elderly,  some  so  fat 
that  their  coats  would  hardly  meet  across  their 
stomachs,  some  thin  and  dried  up,  bald  or  quite 
white,  with  defective  teeth  and  ugly  mouths,  many 
of  them  in  failing  health  —  these  Ministers  and 
Under-Secretaries  of  State  all  agreed  with  Numa. 
The  discussion  became  very  animated  as  the  Par- 
liamentary train  rushed  along  with  its  noise  of 
wheels  and  loud  talk. 

**  Our  Ministers  are  having  a  great  row,"  said 
the  people  in  the  neighboring  compartments. 

Several  newspaper  reporters  tried  to  hear  through 
the  partitions  what  they  were  saying. 

**  The  well-known  man,  the  man  in  power!" 
thundered  Numa,  ''  that  is  what  they  like.  To  know 
that  the  man  who  is  kneeling  before  them  with  his 
head  on  their  knees  is  a  great  man,  a  powerful  man, 
one  who  moves  the  world  —  that  works  them  up  !  " 

•'  Yes,  indeed  !  " 


154  Numa  Roumestan, 

"  You  are  right,  quite  right." 

"  I  am  of  your  opinion,  my  dear  colleague." 

**  Well,  as  for  me,  I  tell  you  that  when  I  was 
only  a  poor  little  lieutenant  on  the  staff  and  went 
out  on  my  Sunday  leave,  dressed  in  my  best,  with 
my  five  and  twenty  years  and  my  new  shoulder- 
straps,  I  used  to  get  many  long,  fond  glances  from 
the  women  whom  I  met,  those  glances  like  a  whip 
that  make  your  whole  body  tingle  from  head  to  foot, 
looks  that  cannot  be  got  by  a  big  epaulette  of  my 
age.  And  so,  now,  when  I  want  to  feel  the  warmth 
and  sincerity  in  looks  of  that  sort  from  lovely  eyes, 
silent  declarations  in  the  open  street,  do  you  know 
what  I  do?  I  take  one  of  my  aides-de-camp,  young, 
cocky,  with  a  fine  figure  and  —  get  them  by  prom- 
enading by  his  side,  S —  d — m — s  — !" 

Roumestan  did  not  speak  again  until  they  reached 
Paris.  As  in  the  morning,  he  was  again  plunged 
in  gloom,  but  furious  also  against  those  fools  of 
women  who  could  be  so  blind  as  to  go  crazy  over 
boobies  and  fops. 

What  was  there  particularly  fascinating  about 
De  Lappara  he  would  like  to  know?  Throughout 
the  discussion  he  had  sat  fingering  his  beard  with 
a  fatuous  air,  looking  conceited  in  his  perfect 
clothes  and  low-cut  shirt  collar,  and  not  saying 
a  word.  He  would  have  liked  to  slap  him.  Prob- 
ably it  was  that  air  he  took  when  he  sang  Mireille 
with  little  Bachellery  —  who  was  probably  his  mis- 
tress. The  idea  was  horrible  to  him  —  but  still 
he  would  have  liked  to  know  the  truth  about  it 
and  convince  himself. 


Renewal  of  Youth,  155 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone  and  driving  to  the 
Ministry  in  the  coupe  he  said  to  Lappara  sud- 
denly, brutally,  without  looking  at  him : 

'*  Have  you  known  these  women  long?  " 

"  Which  women,  your  Excellency?  " 

**  The  Bachellerys,  of  course ;   O,  come  !  " 

He  had  been  thinking  of  them  so  constantly 
himself  that  he  felt  as  if  every  one  else  must  be 
doing  the  same  thing.     Lappara  laughed. 

O,  yes — he  had  known  them  a  long  time;  they 
were  countrywomen  of  his.  The  Bachellery  fam- 
ily and  the  Folies  Bordelaises  were  part  of  the 
joUiest  souvenirs  of  his  youth.  He  had  been  des- 
perately enough  in  love  with  the  mother  when 
he  was  a  lad  to  make  all  his  school-boy  buttons 
split. 

**  And  to-day  in  love  with  the  daughter?  "  asked 
Roumestan  playfully,  rubbing  the  misty  window 
with  his  glove  to  look  out  into  the  dark  rainy 
street. 

**  Ah  !  —  the  daughter  is  a  horse  of  another  color. 
Although  she  seems  to  be  so  light  and  frisky,  she 
is  really  a  very  serious  and  cool  young  person. 
I  don't  know  what  she  is  aiming  at,  but  I  feel  that 
it  is  something  that  I  can  never  have  the  chance 
to  offer  her." 

Numa  felt  comforted:  ''Really  —  and  yet  you 
continue  to  go  there !  " 

*'  O,  yes,  they  are  so  amusing,  the  Bachellery 
family.  The  father,  the  retired  manager,  writes 
comic  songs  for  the  concert-gardens.  The  mother 
sings  and  acts  them  while  frying  eels  in  oil  and 


156  Numa  Roumestan, 

making  a  houillabaise  that  Roubion's  own  is  n't 
a  patch  on.  Noise,  disorder,  bits  of  music,  rows 
—  there  you  have  the  Folies  Bordelaises  at  home. 
AHce  rules  the  roost,  rushes  about  like  mad,  runs 
the  supper,  sings;  but  never  loses  her  head  for 
one  moment." 

"  Well,  gay  boy,  you  expect  her  to  lose  it  some 
day,  do  you  not?  and  in  your  favor!  "  Suddenly 
becoming  very  serious  the  Minister  added:  "It 
is  not  a  good  place  for  you  to  go  to,  young  man. 
The  devil !  You  must  learn  to  take  life  more  seri- 
ously than  you  do.  The  Bordelaise  folly  cannot , 
last  all  your  life." 

He  took  his  hand :  '*  Do  you  never  think  of 
marrying?  " 

"  No,  indeed.  Excellency.  I  am  perfectly  con- 
tent as  I  am  —  unless,  indeed,  I  should  find  some 
uncommon  bonanza." 

"We  could  find  you  the  bonanza- — with  your 
name,  your  connections  .  .  .  what  would  you  say  to 
Mile.  Le  Quesnoy?  " 

"O,  Excellency — I  never  should  have  dared  .  .  ." 

Notwithstanding  all  his  boldness,  the  Bordeaux 
man  grew  pale  with  joy  and  astonishment. 

"Why  not?  You  must,  you  must  —  you  know 
how  highly  I  esteem  you,  my  dear  boy ;  I  should 
like  to  have  you  as  a  member  of  my  family  — I 
should  feel  stronger,  more  rounded  out  —  " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  remembering  that  he 
had  used  these  same  words  to  Mejean  that  same 
morning. 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it  —  it 's  done  now." 


Renewal  of  Youth,  157 

He  jerked  his  shoulder  and  sank  into  a  corner 
of  the  coupe. 

"  After  all,  Hortense  is  free  to  choose  for  her- 
self; she  can  decide.  I  shall  have  saved  this  boy 
anyhow  from  spending  his  time  in  bad  company." 
And  in  fact  Roumestan  really  thought  that  this 
motive  alone  had  made  him  act  as  he  did. 


158  Numa  Roumestan, 


CHAPTER   IX. 

AN  EVENING  PARTY  AT  THE  MINISTRY. 

There  was  an  unusual  look  to  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain  that  evening.  Quiet  little  streets  that 
were  sleeping  peacefully  at  an  early  hour  were 
awakened  by  the  jolting  of  omnibuses  turned  from 
their  usual  course ;  while  other  streets,  where 
usually  the  uninterrupted  stream  and  roar  of  great 
Parisian  arteries  prevail,  were  like  a  river-bed 
from  which  the  water  has  been  drained.  Silent, 
empty,  apparently  enlarged,  the  entrance  was 
guarded  by  the  outline  of  a  mounted  policeman 
or  by  the  sombre  shadows  across  the  asphalt  of  a 
line  of  civic  guards,  with  hoods  drawn  up  over 
their  caps  and  hands  muffled  in  their  long  sleeves, 
saying  by  a  gesture  to  carriages  as  they  ap- 
proached :   *'  No  one  can  pass." 

"Is  it  a  fire?"  asked  a  frightened  man,  putting 
his  head  out  of  the  carriage  window. 

"  No,  sir ;  it  is  the  evening  party  of  the  Public 
Instruction." 

The  sentry  passed  on  and  the  coachman  drove 
off,  swearing  at  being  obliged  to  go  so  far  out  of 
his  way  on  that  left  bank  of  the  Seine,  where  the 
little  streets  planned  without  system  are  still  some- 
what confusing,  after  the  fashion  of  old  Paris. 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     159 

At  a  distance,  sure  enough,  the  brilliant  lights 
from  the  two  fronts  of  the  Ministry,  the  bonfires 
lighted  in  the  middle  of  the  streets  because  of 
the  cold,  the  gleam  from  lines  of  lanterns  on  the 
carriages  converging  to  one  spot,  threw  a  halo 
round  the  whole  quarter  like  the  reflection  of  a 
great  conflagration,  made  more  brilliant  by  the 
limpid  blueness  of  the  sky  and  the  frosty  dryness 
of  the  air.  On  approaching  the  house,  however, 
one  was  reassured  by  the  perfect  arrangements  of 
the  party ;  for  the  conflagration  was  but  the  glare 
of  the  even  white  light  rising  to  the  eaves  of  the 
nearer  houses,  that  rendered  visible,  as  distinctly 
as  by  day,  the  names  in  gold  upon  the  diff'er- 
ent  public  buildings  — "  Mayory  of  the  Seventh 
District,"  "■  Ministry  of  Posts  and  Telegraphs," 
fading  off  in  Bengal  flames  and  fairylike  illumina- 
tion among  the  branches  of  some  big  and  leafless 
trees. 

Among  those  who  lingered  notwithstanding  the 
chill  wind  and  formed  a  hedge  of  curious  gazers 
near  the  hotel  gates  was  a  little  pale  shadow  with 
awkward,  ducklike  gait,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot 
in  a  long  peasant's  cloak,  which  allowed  nothing 
of  her  but  two  piercing  eyes  to  be  visible.  She 
walked  up  and  down,  bent  with  the  cold,  her  teeth 
chattering,  but  insensible  to  the  biting  frost  in  the 
fever  and  intoxication  of  her  excitement.  Occa- 
sionally she  would  rush  at  some  carriage  in  the 
row  advancing  slowly  up  the  Rue  de  Crenelle 
with  a  luxurious  noise  of  jingling  harness  and 
champing  bits  of  impatient  horses,  where  dainty 


i6o  Numa  Roumestan, 

forms  clad  in  white  were  dimly  seen  behind  the 
misty  carriage  windows.  Then  she  would  return 
to  the  entrance  where  the  privilege  of  a  special 
ticket  allowed  the  carriage  of  some  dignitary  to 
break  the  line  and  enter.  She  pushed  the  peo- 
ple aside:  **  Excuse  me  —  just  let  me  look  a 
moment."  Under  the  blaze  from  the  lamp-stands 
built  in  the  form  of  yew  trees,  under  the  striped 
awning  of  the  marquees,  the  carriage  doors,  open- 
ing with  a  bang,  discharged  upon  the  carpets  their 
freight  of  rustling  satin,  billowy  tulle  and  glowing 
flowers. 

The  little  figure  leaned  eagerly  forward  and 
hardly  withdrew  herself  quickly  enough  to  avoid 
being  crushed  by  the  next  carriage  to  come  on. 

Audiberte  was  determined  to  see  for  herself 
how  such  an  entertainment  was  managed.  How 
proudly  she  gazed  on  this  crowd  and  these  lights, 
the  soldiers  ahorse  and  afoot,  the  police  and  these 
brilliant  goings-on,  all  this  part  of  Paris  turned 
topsy-turvy  in  honor  of  Valmajour's  tabor !  For 
it  was  being  given  in  his  honor  and  she  was  sure 
that  his  name  was  on  the  lips  of  all  these  fine  and 
beautiful  gentlemen  and  ladies.  From  the  front 
entrance  on  Crenelle  Street  she  rushed  to  that  on 
Bellechasse  Street,  through  which  the  empty  car- 
riages drove  out;  there  she  mingled  with  the  civic 
guards  and  the  coachmen  in  immense  coats  with 
capes  round  a  brasero  flaming  in  the  middle  of  the 
street,  and  was  astonished  to  hear  these  people  talk- 
ing of  every-day  matters,  the  sharp  cold  of  that 
winter,  potatoes  freezing  in  the  cellars,  of  things 


An  Evening  Parly  at  the  Mhiistry,     i6i 

absolutely  foreign  to  the  function  and  her  brother. 
The  slowness  of  the  crawling  line  of  carriages 
particularly  irritated  her;  she  longed  to  see  the 
last  one  drive  up  and  be  able  to  say :  "  Ready  at 
last!  Now  it  will  begin.  This  time  it  is  really 
commencing." 

But  with  the  deepening  of  the  night  the  cold 
became  more  penetrating;  she  could  have  cried 
with  the  pain  of  her  nearly  frozen  feet;  but  it 
is  pretty  rough  to  cry  when  one's  heart  is  so 
happy ! 

At  last  she  made  up  her  mind  to  go  home, 
after  taking  in  all  this  gorgeousness  in  one  last 
look  and  carrying  it  off  in  her  poor,  savage  little 
head  as  she  passed  along  the  dismal  streets 
through  the  icy  night.  Her  temples  throbbed 
with  the  fever  of  ambition  and  almost  burst  with 
dreams  and  hopes,  whilst  her  eyes  were  forever 
dazzled  and,  as  it  were,  blinded  by  that  illumina- 
tion to  the  honor  and  glory  of  the  Valmajours. 

But  what  would  she  have  said,  had  she  gone  in, 
had  she  seen  all  those  drawing-rooms  in  white 
and  gold  unfolding  themselves  in  perspective  be- 
neath their  arcaded  doorways,  enlarged  by  mirrors 
on  which  fell  the  flames  of  the  chandeliers,  the 
wall  decorations,  the  dazzling  glitter  of  diamonds 
and  military  trappings,  the  orders  of  all  kinds  — 
palm-shaped,  in  tufted  form,  broochlike,  or  big  as 
Catherine  wheels,  or  small  as  watch-charms,  or 
else  fastened  about  the  neck  with  those  broad 
red  ribbons  which  make  one  think  of  bloody 
decapitations ! 


1 62  Numa  Roumestan, 

Pell-mell  among  great  names  belonging  to  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain  there  were  present  minis- 
ters, generals,  ambassadors,  members  of  the  In- 
stitute and  the  Superior  Council  of  the  University. 
Never  in  the  arena  at  Aps,  no,  not  even  at 
the  tabor  matches  in  Marseilles,  had  Valmajour 
had  such  an  audience.  To  tell  the  truth,  his  name 
did  not  occupy  much  space  at  this  festival  which 
was  given  in  his  honor.  The  programme  was 
decorated  with  marvellous  borders  from  the  pen  of 
Dalys,  and  certainly  mentioned  "  Various  Airs  on 
the  Tabor"  with  the  name  of  Valmajour  in  com- 
bination with  that  of  several  lyrical  pieces;  but 
people  did  not  look  at  the  programme.  Only  the 
intimate  friends,  only  those  people  who  are  ac- 
quainted with  everything  that  is  going  on,  said  to 
the  Minister  as  he  stood  to  receive  at  the  entrance 
to  the  first  drawing-room : 

"So  you  have  a  tabor-player?"  And  he  an- 
swered, with  his  thoughts  elsewhere : 

"  Yes,  a  whim  of  the  ladies." 

He  was  not  thinking  much  of  poor  Valmajour 
that  evening,  but  of  another  appearance  much 
more  important  to  him.  What  would  people  say  ? 
Would  she  be  a  success?  Had  not  the  interest 
he  had  taken  in  the  child  made  him  exaggerate 
her  talent?  And,  very  much  in  love,  although  he 
would  not  have  owned  it  yet  to  himself,  bitten  to 
the  bone  by  the  absorbing  passion  of  an  elderly 
man,  he  felt  all  the  anxiety  of  the  father,  husband, 
lover  or  milliner  of  a  d^butajite,  one  of  those 
sorrowful  anxieties  such  as  one  often  sees  in  some- 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     163 

body  restlessly  wandering  behind  the  scenes  on 
the  night  of  a  first  representation.  That  did  not 
prevent  him  from  being  amiable,  warm  and  meet- 
ing his  guests  with  both  hands  outstretched ;  and 
what  guests,  boun  Diou !  nor  from  simpering, 
smiling,  neighing,  prancing,  throwing  back  his 
body,  twisting  and  bending  with  unfailing  if  some 
what  monotonous  effusion  —  but  with  shades  of 
difference,  nevertheless. 

Suddenly  quitting,  almost  pushing  aside,  the 
guest  to  whom  he  was  speaking  in  a  low  voice 
and  promising  endless  favors,  he  flew  to  meet  a 
stately  lady  with  crimson  cheeks  and  authorita- 
tive manner:  "Ah,  Madame  la  Marechale,"  and 
placing  in  his  own  the  august  arm  encased  in 
a  twenty-button  glove,  he  led  his  noble  guest 
through  the  rooms  between  a  double  row  of 
obsequious  black  coats  to  the  concert  room, 
where  Mme.  Roumestan  presided,  assisted  by 
her  sister. 

As  he  passed  through  the  rooms  on  his  return 
he  scattered  kind  words  and  hand-shakes  right 
and  left.  "  Count  on  me  !  It 's  a  settled  thing !  " 
—  or  else  he  threw  rapidly  his  *' How  are  you, 
friend?"  —  or  again,  in  order  to  warm  up  the 
reception  and  put  a  sympathetic  current  flowing 
through  all  this  solemn  society  crowd,  he  would 
present  people  to  each  other,  throwing  them 
without  warning  into  each  other's  arms :  "  What ! 
you  do  not  know  each  other?  The  Prince  of 
Anhalt !  —  M.  Bos,  Senator !  "  and  never  noticed 
that  the  two  men,  their  names  hardly  uttered,  after 


164  Numa  Roumestan, 

a  hasty  duck  of  the  head  and  a  "  Sir  "  —  **  Sir," 
merely  waited  till  he  was  gone  to  turn  their  backs 
on  each  other  with  a  ferocious  look. 

Like  the  greater  number  of  political  antagonists, 
our  good  Numa  had  relaxed  and  let  himself  out 
when  he  had  won  the  fight  and  come  to  power. 
Without  ceasing  to  belong  to  the  party  of  moral 
order,  this  Vendean  from  the  South  had  lost  his 
fine  ardor  for  the  Cause,  permitted  his  grand 
hopes  to  slumber,  and  began  to  find  that  things 
were  not  so  bad  after  all.  Why  should  these 
savage  hatreds  exist  between  nice  people?  He 
yearned  for  peace  and  a  general  indulgence.  He 
counted  on  music  to  operate  a  fusion  among  the 
parties,  his  little  fortnightly  concerts  becoming  a 
neutral  ground  for  artistic  and  sociable  enjoyment, 
where  the  most  bitterly  hostile  people  might  meet 
each  other  and  learn  to  esteem  one  another  in  a 
spot  apart  from  the  passions  and  torments  of 
politics. 

That  was  why  there  was  such  a  queer  mixture 
in  the  invitations ;  thence  also  the  embarrassment 
and  lack  of  ease  among  the  guests ;  therefore  also 
colloquies  in  low  tones  suddenly  interrupted  and 
that  curious  going  and  coming  of  black  coats,  the 
assumed  interest  seen  in  looks  raised  to  the  ceil- 
ing, examining  the  gilded  fluting  of  the  panels, 
the  decorations  of  the  time  of  the  Directory,  half 
Louis  XVI,  half  Empire,  with  bronze  heads  on 
the  upright  lines  of  the  marble  chimneypieces. 
People  were  hot  and  at  the  same  time  cold,  as 
if,  one  might   believe,  the   terrible  frost    outside, 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     165 

changed  by  the  thick  walls  and  the  wadding  of 
the  hangings,  had  been  converted  into  moral  cold. 
From  time  to  time  the  rushing  about  of  De  Lap- 
para  and  De  Rochemaure  to  find  seats  for  the 
ladies  broke  in  upon  the  monotonous  strolling 
about  of  bored  men,  or  else  a  stir  was  made  by 
the  sensational  entrance  of  the  beautiful  Mme. 
Hubler,  her  hair  dressed  with  feathers,  her  pro- 
file dry  like  that  of  an  indestructible  doll,  with  a 
smile  like  a  stamped  coin  drawn  up  to  her  very 
eyebrows  —  a  wax  doll  in  a  hair-dresser's  window. 
But  the  cold  soon  returned  again. 

"  It  is  the  very  devil  to  thaw  out  these  rooms  of 
the  Public  Instruction.  I  am  sure  the  ghost  of 
Frayssinous  walks  here  at  night." 

This  remark  in  a  loud  tone  was  made  by  one  of 
a  group  of  young  musicians  gathered  obsequiously 
round  Cadaillac,  the  manager  of  the  opera,  who 
was  sitting  philosophically  on  a  velvet  couch  with 
his  back  against  the  statue  of  Moliere.  Very  fat, 
half  deaf,  with  a  bristling  white  moustache,  his 
face  puffy  and  impenetrable,  it  was  hard  to  find  in 
him  the  natty  and  politic  young  impresario  under 
whose  care  the  *'  Nabob  "  had  given  his  entertain- 
ments ;  his  eyes  alone  told  of  the  Parisian  joker, 
his  ferocious  science  of  life,  his  spirit,  hard  as  a 
blackthorn  with  an  iron  ferule,  toughened  in  the 
fire  of  the  footlights.  But  full  and  sated  and  con- 
tent with  his  place  and  fearful  of  losing  it  at  the 
end  of  his  contract,  he  sheathed  his  claws  and 
talked  little  and  especially  httle  here;  his  only 
criticism  on  this  official  and  social  comedy  being 


1 66  Niima  Roumestan, 

a  laugh  as  silent  and  inscrutable  as  that  of  Leather- 
Stocking. 

'*  Boissaric,  my  good  fellow,"  he  asked  in  a  low 
voice  of  an  ambitious  young  Toulousian  who  had 
just  had  a  ballet  accepted  at  the  opera  after  only 
ten  years  of  waiting  —  a  thing  nobody  could  believe 
—  ''you  who  know  everything,  tell  me  who  that 
solemn-looking  man  with  a  big  moustache  is  who 
talks  familiarly  to  every  one  and  walks  behind  his 
nose  with  as  thoughtful  an  air  as  if  he  were  going 
to  the  funeral  of  that  feature:  he  must  belong  to 
the  shop,  for  he  talked  theatre  to  me  as  one  having 
authority." 

"  I  don't  think  he  is  an  actor,  master,  I  think  he 
is  a  diplomat.  I  just  heard  him  say  to  the  Belgian 
Minister  that  he  had  been  his  colleague  a  long 
time." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Boissaric.  He  must  be  a 
foreign  general;  only  a  moment  ago  I  heard  him 
perorating  in  a  crowd  of  big  epaulettes  and  he 
was  saying :  '  Unless  one  has  commanded  a  large 
body  of  men  — '  " 

"  Strange !  " 

They  asked  Lappara,  who  happened  to  pass; 
he  laughed. 

"  Why,  it 's  Bompard  !  " 

"  Quh  aco  Bompard  f   (Who  is  this  Bompard?) 

"  A  friend  of  Roumestan's.  How  is  it  you  have 
never  met  him?" 

"  Is  he  from  the  South  ?  " 

"  T^ !  I  should  say  so  !  " 

In  truth,  Bompard,  buttoned  tightly  into  a  grand 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     167 

new  suit  with  a  velvet  collar,  his  gloves  thrust  into 
his  waistcoat,  was  really  trying  to  help  his  friend 
in  the  entertainment  of  his  guests  by  a  varied  but 
continuous  conversation.  Quite  unknown  in  the 
official  world,  where  he  appeared  to-day  for  the  first 
time,  he  may  be  said  to  have  made  a  sensation  as 
he  carried  his  faculty  for  invention  from  group  to 
group,  telling  his  marvellous  visions,  his  stories  of 
royal  love  affairs,  adventures  and  combats,  tri- 
umphs at  the  Federal  shooting-matches  in  Switzer- 
land, all  of  which  produced  the  same  effects  upon 
his  audience  —  astonishment,  embarrassment  and 
disquiet.  Here  at  least  there  was  an  element  of 
gayety,  but  it  was  only  for  a  few  intimates  who 
knew  him.  Nothing  could  dispel  the  cloud  of 
en7mi  that  penetrated  even  into  the  concert  room, 
a  large  and  very  picturesque  apartment  with  its  two 
tiers  of  galleries  and  its  glass  ceiling  that  gave  the 
impression  of  being  under  the  open  sky. 

A  decoration  of  green  palms  and  banana-trees, 
whose  long  leaves  hung  motionless  in  the  light 
of  the  chandeliers,  made  a  fresh  background  to 
the  toilettes  of  the  women  sitting  on  numberless 
rows  of  chairs  placed  close  together.  It  was  a 
wave  of  white  moving  necks,  arms  and  shoulders 
rising  from  their  bodices  like  half-opened  flowers, 
heads  dressed  with  jewelled  stars,  diamonds  flash- 
ing against  the  blue  depths  of  black  tresses  or 
waves  of  gold  from  the  locks  of  blondes ;  a  mass 
of  lovely  figures  in  profile,  full  of  health,  with 
lines  of  beauty  from  waist  to  throat,  or  fine  slender 
forms,  from  a  narrow  waist  clasped  by  a  little  jew- 


1 68  Nunta  Roumestan, 

elled  buckle  up  to  a  long  neck  circled  with  velvet. 
Fans  of  ail  colors,  bright  with  spangles,  shot  with 
hues,  danced  in  butterfly  lightness  over  all  and 
mingled  the  perfumes  of  *'  white  rose  "  or  opopo- 
nax  with  the  feeble  breath  of  white  lilacs  and 
natural   fresh  violets. 

The  bored  expression  on  the  faces  of  the  guests 
was  deeper  here  as  they  reflected  that  for  two  mor- 
tal hours  they  must  sit  thus  before  the  platform  on 
which  was  spread  out  in  a  semicircular  row  the 
chorus,  the  men  in  black  coats,  the  women  in 
white  muslin,  impassive  as  if  sitting  in  front  of  a 
camera,  while  the  orchestra  was  concealed  behind 
copses  of  green  leaves  and  roses,  out  of  which  the 
arms  of  the  bass-viols  reared  themselves  like  in- 
struments of  torture.  Oh,  the  torment  of  the 
**  music  stocks  "  !  All  of  them  knew  it,  for  it  was 
one  of  the  crudest  fatigues  of  the  season  and  of 
their  worldly  burden.  That  is  why,  looking  every- 
where, the  only  happy,  smiling  face  to  be  found  in 
the  immense  room  was  that  of  Mme.  Roumestan  — 
not  that  ballet-dancer's  smile,  common  to  profes- 
sional hostesses,  which  so  easily  changes  to  a  look 
of  angry  fatigue  when  no  one  is  watching.  Hers 
was  the  face  of  a  happy  woman,  a  woman  loved, 
just  starting  on  a  new  life. 

O,  the  endless  tenderness  of  an  honest  soul  which 
has  never  throbbed  but  for  one  person  !  She  had 
begun  to  believe  again  in  her  Numa;  he  had  been 
so  kind  and  tender  for  some  time  back.  It  was 
like  a  return ;  it  seemed  as  if  their  two  hearts  were 
closely  knit  again  after  a  long  parting.     Without 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     169 

asking  whence  came  this  renewal  of  affection  in 
her  husband,  she  found  him  loverlike  and  young 
once  more,  as  he  was  the  night  that  she  showed 
him  the  panel  of  the  hunt ;  and  she  herself  was 
still  the  same  fair  young  Diana,  supple  and  charm- 
ing in  her  frock  of  white  brocade,  her  fair  hair 
simply  banded  on  her  brow,  so  pure  and  without 
an  evil  thought,  looking  five  years  younger  than 
her  thirty  summers ! 

Hortense  was  very  pretty  to-night  also;  all  in 
blue  —  blue  tulle  that  enveloped  her  slender  figure 
like  a  cloud  and  lent  a  soft  shade  to  her  brunette 
face.  She  was  much  preoccupied  with  the  debut 
of  her  musician.  She  wondered  how  the  spoiled 
Parisians  would  like  this  music  from  the  provinces 
and  whether,  as  Rosalie  had  said,  the  tabor-player 
ought  not  to  be  framed  in  a  landscape  of  gray 
olive-trees  and  hills  that  look  like  lace.  Silently, 
though  very  anxious  in  the  rustle  of  fans,  conver- 
sations in  low  voice  and  the  tuning  of  the  instru- 
ments, she  counted  the  pieces  that  must  come 
before  Valmajour  appeared. 

A  blow  from  the  leader  with  his  bow  on  his 
desk,  a  rustling  of  paper  on  the  platform  as  the 
chorus  rises,  music  in  hand,  a  long  look  of  the  vic- 
tims toward  the  high  doorway  clogged  with  black 
coats,  as  if  yearning  to  flee,  and  the  first  notes  of 
a  choral  by  Gliick  ring  through  the  room  and  soar 
upward  to  the  glassy  ceiling  where  the  winter's 
night  lays  its  blue  sheets  of  cold. 

^*  Ah^  dans  ce  bois  funeste  et  sombre*  .  .  ." 

The  concert  has  begun. 


170  Numa  Roumestan, 

The  taste  for  music  has  increased  greatly  in 
France  within  the  last  few  years.  Particularly  in 
Paris,  the  Sunday  concerts  and  those  given  during 
Holy  Week,  and  the  numberless  musical  clubs, 
have  aroused  the  public  taste  and  made  the  works 
of  the  great  masters  known  to  all,  making  a  musi- 
cal education  the  fashion.  But  at  bottom  Paris  is 
too  full  of  life,  too  given  over  to  intellect,  really  to 
love  music,  that  absorbing  goddess  who  holds  you 
motionless  without  voice  or  thought  in  a  floating 
web  of  harmony,  and  hypnotizes  you  like  the 
ocean;  in  Paris  the  follies  that  are  done  in  her' 
name  are  like  those  committed  by  a  fop  for  a 
mistress  who  is  the  fashion ;  it  is  a  passion  of  chic, 
played  to  the  gallery,  commonplace  and  hollow  to 
the  point  of  ennui  / 

Ennui  ! 

Yes,  boredom  was  the  prevailing  note  of  this 
concert  at  the  Ministry  of  Public  Instruction. 
Beneath  that  forced  admiration,  that  expression  of 
simulated  ecstasy  which  belongs  to  the  worldly 
side  of  the  sincerest  woman,  the  look  of  boredom 
rose  higher  and  higher;  there  soon  appeared  un- 
mistakable signs  that  dimmed  the  brilliant  smile 
and  shining  eyes  and  changed  completely  their 
charming,  languishing  poses,  like  the  motion  of 
birds  upon  the  branches  or  when  sipping  water 
drop  by  drop.  On  the  long  rows  of  endless  chairs 
these  fine  ladies,  one  woman  after  the  other,  would 
make  their  fight,  trying  to  reanimate  themselves 
with  cries  of  "  Bravo  !  Divine  !  Delicious  !  "  and 
then,  one  after  another,  would  succumb  to  the  ris- 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry.     171 

ing  torpor  which  ascended  Hke  the  mists  above  a 
sounding  sea,  driving  far  away  into  the  distance 
of  indifference  all  the  artists  who  defiled  before 
them  one  by  one. 

And  yet  the  most  famous  and  illustrious  artists 
of  Paris  were  there,  interpreting  classical  music 
with  all  the  scientific  exactness  it  demands,  which, 
alas,  cannot  be  acquired  save  at  the  expense  of 
years.  Why,  it  is  thirty  years  now  that  Mme. 
Vauters  has  been  singing  that  beautiful  romanza 
of  Beethoven  *'  L'Apaisement,"  and  yet  never  has 
she  done  it  with  more  passion  than  this  evening. 
But  it  seems  as  if  strings  were  lacking  to  the 
instrument ;  one  can  hear  the  bow  scraping  on  the 
violin.  And  behold !  of  the  great  singer  of  for- 
mer days  and  of  that  famous  classical  beauty  there 
remains  nothing  else  but  well  studied  attitudes,  an 
irreproachable  method  and  that  long  white  hand 
which  at  the  last  stanza  brushes  aside  a  tear  from 
the  corner  of  her  eye,  made  deep  with  charcoal  — 
a  tear  that  translates  a  sob  which  her  voice  can  no 
longer  render. 

What  singer  save  Mayol,  handsome  Mayol,  has 
ever  sighed  forth  the  serenade  from  *'  Don  Juan" 
with  such  ethereal  delicacy  —  that  passion  which  is 
like  the  love  of  a  dragon-fly?  Unfortunately  peo- 
ple don't  hear  it  any  longer.  There  is  no  use  for 
him  to  rise  atiptoe  with  outstretched  neck  and 
draw  out  the  note  to  its  very  end,  while  accom- 
panying it  with  the  easy  gesture  of  a  yarn-spinner 
seizing  her  wool  with  two  fingers  —  nothing  comes 
out,  nothing  !     Paris  is  grateful  for  pleasures  which 


172  Numa  Roumestan, 

are  past  and  applauds  all  the  same;  but  these 
used-up  voices,  these  withered  and  too  well-known 
faces,  medals  whose  design  has  been  gradually 
eaten  away  by  passing  from  hand  to  hand,  can 
never  dissipate  the  heavy  fog  which  infests  the 
Minister's  party.  No,  notwithstanding  every  effort 
which  Roumestan  makes  to  enliven  it,  notwith- 
standing the  enthusiastic  bravos  which  he  hurls 
in  his  loudest  voice  into  the  phalanx  of  black 
coats,  nor  the  "  Hush ! "  with  which  he  frightens 
people  who  attempt  to  converse  two  apartments 
away,  and  who  thereafter  prowl  about  silent  as' 
spectres  in  that  strong  illumination  and  change 
their  places  with  every  precaution  in  the  hopes  of 
finding  some  distraction,  their  backs  rounded  and 
their  arms  swinging  —  or  fall  completely  crushed 
upon  the  low  arm-chairs,  their  opera  hats  suspended 
between  their  legs  —  idiotic  and  with  faces  empty 
of  expression  ! 

At  one  time,  it  is  true,  the  appearance  of  Alice 
Bachellery  on  the  stage  wakes  up  and  enlivens  the 
audience;  a  strugghng  bunch  of  curious  people 
assails  each  of  the  two  doors  of  the  hall  in  order  to 
see  the  little  diva  in  her  short  skirt  on  the  platform, 
her  mouth  half  open  and  her  long  lashes  quiver- 
ing as  if  with  surprise  at  seeing  all  this  multitude. 

"  Chatid!  chaiid !  les  ftits  pains  d'  gruauf' 
hum  the  young  club-men  as  they  imitate  the  low- 
lived gesture  that  accompanies  the  end  of  her 
refrain.  Old  gentlemen  belonging  to  the  Univer- 
sity approach,  trembling  all  over,  and  turning  their 
good  ear  toward  her,  in  order  not  to  lose  a  bit 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     173 

of  the  fashionable  vulgarity.  So  there  is  a  dis- 
appointment when,  in  her  somewhat  shrill  and 
limited  voice,  the  little  pastry-cook's  boy  begins 
to  produce  one  of  the  grand  airs  from  "  Alceste," 
prompted  by  Mme.  Vauters,  who  is  encouraging 
her  from  the  flies.  Then  the  faces  fall  and  the 
black  coats  disperse  and  begin  once  more  their 
wandering  with  all  the  more  freedom,  now  that  the 
Minister  is  not  watching  them ;  for  he  has  slipped 
off  to  the  end  of  the  last  drawing-room  on  the  arm 
of  M.  de  Boe,  who  is  quite  stunned  by  the  honor 
accorded  him. 

Eternal  infancy  of  Love  !  What  though  you  may 
have  twenty  years  of  law  at  the  Palace  of  Justice 
behind  you  and  fifteen  years  on  the  Bench;  what 
though  you  may  be  sufficiently  master  of  yourself 
to  preserve  in  the  midst  of  the  most  agitated 
assemblies  and  most  ferocious  interruptions  the 
fixed  idea  and  the  cold-bloodedness  of  a  gull  that 
is  fishing  in  the  heart  of  a  storm  —  nevertheless,  if 
passion  shall  once  enter  into  your  life,  you  will  find 
yourself  the  feeblest  among  the  feeble,  trembling 
and  cowardly  to  the  point  of  hanging  desperately 
to  the  arm  of  some  fool,  rather  than  listen  bravely 
to  the  slightest  criticism  of  your  idol. 

*' Excuse  me  —  I  must  leave  you  —  here  is  the 
entr'acte  —  "  and  the  Minister  hurries  away,  cast- 
ing the  young  maitre  des  requites  back  into  that 
original  obscurity  of  his  from  which  he  shall 
never  emerge  again.  The  crowd  struggles  toward 
the  sideboards;  the  relieved  expression  on  the 
faces  of  all  these  unfortunate  listeners,  who  have  at 


174  Numa  Roumestan, 

last  regained  the  right  to  move  and  speak,  is  suffi- 
cient to  make  Numa  believe  that  his  little  prot^gie 
has  just  won  a  tremendous  success.  People  press 
about  him  and  felicitate  him  —  "  Divine  !  Deli- 
cious !  "  But  there  is  nobody  to  talk  positively  to 
him  about  the  thing  that  interests  him,  so  that  at 
last  he  grabs  hold  of  Cadaillac,  who  is  passing  near 
him,  walking  sidewise  and  splitting  the  human 
stream  with  his  enormous  shoulder  as  a  lever. 

"Well?  well?     How  did  you  like  her?" 

"  Why,  whom  do  you  mean?  " 

"  The  little  girl,"  said  Numa  in  a  tone  which  he' 
tries  to  make  perfectly  indifferent.  The  other  man, 
who  is  good  enough  at  fencing,  comprehends  at 
once  and  says  without  blenching; 

''A  revelation !  " 

The  lover  flushes  up  as  if  he  were  twenty  years 
old  —  as  when,  at  the  Cafe  Malmus,  "  everybody's 
old  girl "  pressed  his  foot  under  the  table. 

**  Then  — you  think  that  at  the  opera  — ?  " 

**  No  sort  of  question  !  —  but  she  would  have  to 
have  a  good  one  to  put  her  on  the  stage,"  said 
Cadaillac  with  his  silent  laugh.  And  while  the 
Minister  rushes  off  to  congratulate  Mile.  Alice, 
the  *'  good  one  to  put  her  on  the  stage  "  con- 
tinues his  march  in  the  direction  of  the  buffet 
which  can  be  seen,  framed  by  an  enormous  mirror 
without  a  border,  at  the  end  of  a  drawing-room  which 
is  all  brown  and  gilded  woodwork.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  severity  of  the  hangings  and  the  impudent 
and  pompous  air  of  the  butlers,  who  are  certainly 
chosen  from    University   men   who   have   missed 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry.     175 

their  examination,  at  this  spot  the  nasty  tempers 
and  boredom  have  disappeared  in  front  of  the 
enormous  counter  crammed  with  delicate  glasses, 
fruits  and  pyramids  of  sandwiches ;  humanity  has 
regained  its  rights  and  these  evil  looks  give  way  to 
attitudes  of  desire  and  voracity.  Through  the 
narrowest  space  that  remains  open  between  two 
busts  or  between  two  heads  bending  over  toward 
the  bit  of  salmon  or  chicken  wing  on  their  little 
plate,  an  arm  intrudes,  attempting  to  seize  a 
tumbler  or  fork  or  roll  of  bread,  scraping  off  rice 
powder  on  shoulders  or  on  a  black  sleeve  or  a 
brilliant,  crude  uniform.  People  chatter  and  grow 
animated,  eyes  glitter,  laughter  rises  under  the 
influence  of  the  foaming  wines.  A  thousand  bits 
of  speech  cross  each  other  —  interrupted  remarks, 
answers  to  questions  already  forgotten.  In  one 
corner  one  hears  little  screams  of  indignation: 
"  What  a  brute  !  How  disgusting !  "  about  the 
scientist  Bechut,  that  enemy  of  women,  who  is 
going  on  reviling  the  weaker  sex.  Then  a  quarrel 
among  musicians.  "  But,  my  dear  fellow,  beware 
—  you  are  denying  altogether  the  increase  of  the 
quhiter 

"  Is  it  really  true  she  is  only  sixteen?  " 

"  Sixteen  years  of  the  cask  and  some  few  extra 
years  of  the  bottle." 

*'  Mayol !  —  O,  come  now !  Mayol !  —  finished, 
empty!  and  to  think  that  the  opera  gives  two 
thousand  francs  every  night  to  that  thing !  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  has  to  spend  a  thousand  francs  of 
seats  to  get  his  auditorium  warm,  and  then,  on  the 


176  Numa  Roumesfan, 

sly,  Cadaillac  gets  all  the  rest  of  it  away  from  him 
playing  ^cart^." 

''  Bordeaux  !  —  chocolate  !  —  champagne  !  —  '* 

"  —  will  have  to  come  and  explain  himself  before 
the  commission." 

''  —  by  raising  the  ruche  a  little  with  bows  of 
white  satin." 

In  another  part  of  the  house  Mile.  Le  Ques- 
noy,  closely  surrounded  by  friends,  recommends 
her  tabor  player  to  a  foreign  correspondent  with 
an  impudent  head  as  flat  as  that  of  a  choumacre 
and  begs  him  not  to  leave  before  the  end  of  the- 
play;  she  scolds  Mejean,  who  is  not  supporting 
her  properly,  and  calls  him  a  false  Southerner,  a 
franciot  and  a  renegade.  In  the  group  near  by  a 
political  discussion  has  started.  One  mouth  opens 
in  a  hateful  way  with  foam  about  the  teeth  and  says, 
chewing  on  the  words  as  if  they  were  musket  balls 
and  he  would  like  to  poison  them : 

"Whatever  exists  in  the  most  destructive  of 
demagogies —  " 

"  —  Marat  the  conservative  !  "  said  a  voice  —  but 
the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  a  confused 
noise  of  conversations  mixed  with  clattering  of 
plates  and  glasses,  which  the  coppery  tones  of 
Roumestan's  voice  all  of  a  sudden  dominated: 
*'  Ladies  !  hurry,  ladies  !  —  or  you  will  miss  the 
sonata  \n  fa  f' 

There  is  a  silence  as  of  the  dead.  Then  the  long 
procession  of  trailing  trains  begins  to  cross  the 
drawing-room  and  settle  itself  once  more  into  the 
rows  of  chairs.     The  women  have  that  despairing 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     177 

face  one  sees  on  captives  who  are  returned  to  prison 
after  an  hour's  walk  in  the  open  fields.  And  so 
the  concertos  and  symphonies  follow  each  other, 
note  after  note.  Handsome  Mayol  begins  again 
to  draw  out  that  intangible  note  of  his  and  Mme. 
Vauters  to  touch  again  the  loosened  cords  of  her 
voice.  All  of  a  sudden  a  sign  of  life  appears,  a  move- 
ment of  curiosity,  just  as  it  was  a  little  while  ago 
when  the  small  Mile.  Bachellery  made  her  entrance. 
It  is  the  tabor-player  Valmajour,  the  apparition  of 
that  proud  peasant,  his  soft  felt  hat  over  one  ear,  his 
red  belt  around  his  waist  and  his  plainsman's  jacket 
on  one  shoulder.  It  was  an  idea  of  Audiberte's, 
an  instinct  in  her  natural  feminine  taste,  to  dress 
him  in  this  way  in  order  to  give  him  greater  effect 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  black  coats.  Well,  well,  at 
last,  this  at  least  is  new  and  unexpected  —  this  long 
tabor  which  hangs  to  the  arm  of  the  musician,  the 
Httle  fife  on  which  his  fingers  move  hither  and  yon, 
and  the  charming  airs  to  the  double  music  whose 
movement,  rousing  and  lively,  gives  a  moire-like 
shiver  of  awakening  to  the  satin  of  those  lovely 
shoulders  !  That  worn-out  public  is  delighted  with 
these  songs  of  morning,  so  fresh  and  embalmed 
with  country  fragrances  —  these  ballads  of  Old 
France. 

"  Bravo  !  Bravo  !  Encore  !  " 

And  when,  with  a  large  and  victorious  rhythm 
which  the  orchestra  accompanies  in  a  low  note,  he 
attacks  the  "  March  of  Turenne,"  deepening  and 
supporting  his  somewhat  shrill  instrument,  the  suc- 
cess is  wild.     He  has  to  come  back  twice,  ten  times, 

12 


178  Numa  Roumestan, 

being  applauded  first  of  all  by  Numa,  whom  this 
solitary  success  has  warmed  completely  and  who 
now  takes  credit  to  himself  for  this  ''  fancy  of  the 
ladies."  He  tells  them  how  he  discovered  this 
genius,  explains  the  great  mystery  of  the  fife  with 
three  holes  and  gives  various  details  concerning 
the  ancient  castle  of  the  Valmajours. 

*'Then  he  really  is  called  Valmajour?" 

"Certainly  —  belongs  to  the  Princes  des  Baux 
—  he  is  the  last  of  the  line." 

And  so  this  legend  starts,  scatters,  expands, 
enlarges  and  becomes  at  last  a  regular  novel  by 
George  Sand. 

"  I  have  the  parshemmts  at  my  house,"  corrobo- 
rates Bompard  in  a  tone  which  permits  of  no 
question. 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  this  worldly  enthusiasm 
more  or  less  fabricated  there  is  one  little  heart 
which  is  moved,  one  young  head  wiiich  is  completely 
intoxicated  and  takes  all  these  bravos  and  fables 
seriously.  Without  speaking  a  word,  without  even 
applauding,  her  eyes  fixed  and  lost,  her  long,  supple 
figure  following  in  the  balancing  motion  of  a  dream 
the  bars  of  the  heroic  march,  Hortense  finds  her- 
self once  more  down  there  in  Provence  on  the  high 
terrace  overlooking  the  sun-baked  plain,  whilst  her 
musician  plays  for  her  a  morning  greeting,  as  if  to 
one  of  those  ladies  in  the  Courts  of  Love,  and  then 
sticks  her  pomegranate  flower  on  his  tabor  with  a 
savage  grace.  This  recollection  moves  her  de- 
lightfully, and  leaning  her  head  on  her  sister's 
shoulder  she  murmurs  very  low:   "  O,  how  happy 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     179 

I  am !  "  uttering  it  with  a  deep  and  true  accent 
which  Rosalie  does  not  notice  at  once,  but  which 
later  on  shall  become  more  definite  in  her  memory 
and  shall  haunt  her  like  the  stammered  news  of 
some  misfortune. 

''Eh!  b^f  My  good  Valmajour,  didn't  I  tell 
you?  What  a  success! — eh?"  cried  Roumes- 
tan  in  the  httle  drawing-room  where  a  stand-up 
supper  was  being  served  for  the  performers.  As 
to  this  success,  the  other  stars  of  the  concert  con- 
sidered it  a  bit  exaggerated.  Mme.  Vauters,  who 
was  seated  in  readiness  to  leave  while  she  waited 
for  her  carriage,  concealed  her  spite  in  a  great  big 
cape  of  lace  filled  with  violent  perfumes,  while 
handsome  Mayol,  standing  in  front  of  the  buffet, 
showing  in  his  back  his  slack  nerves  and  weariness 
by  a  peculiar  gesture,  tore  to  pieces  with  the  great- 
est ferocity  a  poor  little  plover  and  imagined  that 
he  had  the  tabor-player  under  his  knife.  But  little 
Bachellery  did  not  stoop  to  any  such  bad  temper. 
In  the  midst  of  a  group  of  young  fops,  laughing,  flut- 
tering and  digging  her  little  white  teeth  into  a  ham 
sandwich,  like  a  schoolboy  assailed  by  the  hunger 
of  a  growing  child,  she  played  her  game  of  infancy. 
She  tried  to  make  music  on  Valmajour's  fife. 

''  Just  see,  M'sieur  le  ministre !  " 

Then,  noticing  Cadaillac  behind  his  Excellency, 
with  a  sharp  twirl  of  her  feet  she  advanced  her 
forehead  like  that  of  a  little  girl  for  him  to  kiss. 

"Howdy,  uncle!  —  " 

It  was  a  relationship  purely  fantastic  such  as  they 
adopt  behind  the  scenes. 


i8o  Ntima  Roumestan. 

'*  What  a  make-believe  madcap  !  "  grunted  the 
"  right  man  to  put  one  on  the  stage  "  behind  his 
white  moustache,  but  not  in  too  loud  a  voice,  be- 
cause in  all  probability  she  was  going  to  become 
one  of  his  pensioners  and  a  most  influential  pen- 
sioner. 

Valmajour  stood  erect  before  the  chimneypiece 
with  a  fatuous  air,  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  women 
and  journalists.  The  foreign  correspondent  put 
his  questions  to  him  brutally,  not  at  all  in  that 
hypocritical  tone  he  used  when  interrogating 
ministers  in  special  audiences ;  but,  without  being 
troubled  in  the  least  thereby,  the  peasant  answered 
him  with  the  stereotyped  account  his  lips  were 
used  to :  **  It  all  come  to  me  in  the  night  while  I 
listened  me  to  the  nighthigawles  singin'  —  " 

He  was  interrupted  by  Mile.  Le  Quesnoy,  who 
offered  him  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  plate  heaped  up 
with  good  things  especially  for  him. 

*'  How  do  you  do?  You  see  this  time  I  myself 
am  bringing  you  the  grand-boirer  She  had  made 
her  speech  for  a  purpose,  but  he  answered  her 
with  a  slight  nod  of  the  head,  and,  pointing  to  the 
chimneypiece,  said  **A11  right,  all  right,  put  it 
down  there,"  and  went  on  with  his  story. 

"  So,  what  the  birrud  of  the  Lord  could  do  with 
one  hole  .  .  ."  Without  being  discouraged,  Hor- 
tense  waited  to  the  end  and  then  spoke  to  him 
about  his  father  and  his  sister. 

'*  She  will  be  very  much  delighted,  will  she 
not?" 

"  O,  yes ;  it  has  gone  pretty  well." 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     i8i 

With  a  silly  smile  he  stroked  his  moustache 
while  looking  about  him  with  restless  eyes.  He 
had  been  told  that  the  director  of  the  opera  de- 
sired to  make  him  an  offer  and  he  was  on  the  watch 
for  him  afar,  feeling  even  at  this  early  moment 
the  jealousy  of  an  actor  and  astonished  that  any- 
body could  spend  so  much  time  with  that  good- 
for-nothing  little  singing-girl.  Filled  with  his  own 
thoughts,  he  took  no  trouble  to  answer  the  beauti- 
ful young  girl  standing  before  him,  her  fan  in  her 
hand,  in  that  pretty,  half-audacious  attitude  which 
the  habit  of  society  gives.  But  she  loved  him  better 
as  he  was,  disdainful  and  cold  toward  everything 
which  was  not  his  art;  she  admired  him  for  accept- 
ing loftily  the  compliments  which  Cadaillac  poured 
upon  him  with  his  off-hand  roundness : 

"Yes,  I  tell  you  .  .  .  yes,  indeed!  ...  I  tell 
you  exactly  what  I  mean  .  ,  .  great  deal  of  talent 
.  .  .  very  original,  very  new;  I  hope  no  other 
theatre  save  the  Opera  shall  have  your  first  appear- 
ance ...  I  must  find  some  occasion  to  bring  you 
forward.  From  to-day  on,  consider  yourcelf  as 
one  of  the  House !  " 

Valmajour  thought  of  the  paper  with  the  gov- 
ernment stamp  on  it  which  he  had  in  the  pocket 
of  his  jacket;  but  the  other  man,  just  as  if  he 
divined  the  thought  that  possessed  him,  stretched 
out  his  supple  hand:  "There,  that  engages  us 
both,  my  dear  fellow ; "  and  pointing  out  Mayol 
and  Mme.  Vauters  —  who  were  luckily  occupied 
elsewhere,  for  they  would  have  laughed  too  loud 
—  he  continued : 


1 82  Numa  Roumestan, 

"Ask  your  comrades  what  the  given  word  of 
Cadaillac  means  !  "  At  this  he  turned  on  his  heel 
and  went  back  into  the  ball. 

Now  it  had  become  a  party  which  had  spread 
into  less  crowded  but  more  animated  rooms,  and 
the  fine  orchestra  was  taking  its  revenge  for  three 
hours  of  classical  music  by  giving  waltzes  of  the 
purest  Viennese  variety.  The  lofty  personages 
and  solemn  people  having  left,  the  floors  now  be- 
longed to  the  young  people,  those  maniacs  of 
pleasure  who  dance  for  the  love  of  dancing  and  for 
the  intoxication  of  flying  hair  and  swimming  eyes 
and  trains  whipped  round  about  their  feet.  But 
even  then  politics  could  not  lose  its  rights  and  the 
fusion  dreamt  of  by  Roumestan  did  not  take  place. 
Even  of  the  two  rooms  where  they  danced  one  of 
them  belonged  to  the  Left  Centre  and  the  other 
to  the  White,  a  flower  de  luce  White  without  a 
stain,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  Hortense  made  to 
bind  the  two  camps  together !  Much  sought  out 
as  the  sister-in-law  of  the  Minister  and  daughter  of 
the  Chief  Judge,  she  saw  about  her  big  marriage 
portion  and  her  influential  connections  a  perfect 
flock  of  waistcoats  with  their  hearts  outside. 

While  dancing  with  her,  Lappara,  greatly  ex- 
cited, declared  that  His  Excellency  had  permitted 
him — but  just  there  the  waltz  ended  and  she  left 
him  without  listening  to  the  rest  and  came  toward 
Mejean,  who  did  not  dance  and  yet  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  to  leave. 

"What  a  face  you  make,  most  solemn  man, 
man  most  reasonable  !  " 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry,     183 

He  took  her  by  the  hand :  "  Sit  down  here ;  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you  —  by  the  author- 
ity of  my  Minister —  '* 

Very  much  overcome,  he  smiled,  and  while 
noting  the  trembling  of  his  lips  Hortense  under- 
stood and  rose  very  quickly. 

**  No,  no,  not  this  evening — I  can  listen  to 
nothing  —  I  am  dancing — " 

She  flew  away  on  the  arm  of  Rochemaure,  who 
had  just  come  to  fetch  her  for  the  cotillion.  He 
too  was  very  much  taken;  just  in  order  to  imitate 
Lappara,  the  good  young  fellow  ventured  to  pro- 
nounce a  word  which  caused  her  to  break  out  in  a 
gale  of  gayety  that  went  whirling  with  her  round 
the  entire  room,  and  when  the  shawl  figure  was 
finished  she  went  over  toward  her  sister  and  whis- 
pered in  her  ear: 

**  Here  we  are  in  a  nice  mess !  Here  is  Numa, 
who  has  promised  me  to  each  of  his  three  secre- 
taries !  " 

"  Which  one  are  you  going  to  take?  " 

Her  answer  was  cut  short  by  the  rolling  of  the 
tabor. 

"  The  farandole  !     The  farandole  !  " 

It  was  a  surprise  for  his  guests  from  the  Minis- 
ter—  the  farandole  to  close  the  cotillion  —  the 
South  to  the  last  go  !  and  so  —  zoii  !  But  how  do 
people  dance  it?  Hands  meet  each  other  and 
join  and  the  two  dancing-rooms  come  together 
this  time.  Bompard  gravely  explains :  "  This  is 
the  way,  young  ladies,"  and  he  cuts  a  caper. 

And  then,  with  Hortense  at  its  head,  the  faran- 


184  Numa  Roumestan, 

dole  unrolls  itself  across  the  long  rows  of  rooms, 
followed  by  Valmajour  playing  with  a  superb 
solemnity,  proud  of  his  success  and  of  the  looks 
which  his  masculine  and  robust  figure  in  that  origi- 
nal- costume  earn  for  him. 

'*  Is  n't  he  beautiful !  "  cried  Roumestan,  "  is  n't 
he  handsome  !   a  regular  Greek  shepherd  !  " 

From  room  to  room  the  rustic  dance,  more  and 
more  crowded  and  lively,  follows  and  chases  the 
spectre  of  Frayssinous.  Reawakened  to  life  by 
these  airs  from  the  ancient  time,  the  figures  on 
the  great  tapestries,  copied  from  the  pictures  of 
Boucher  and  Lancret,  agitate  themselves  and  the 
little  naked  backs  of  the  cupids  who  are  rolling 
about  along  the  frieze  take  on  a  movement  in  the 
eyes  of  the  dancers  as  of  a  rushing  hunt  as  wild 
and  crazy  as  their  own. 

Away  down  there  at  the  end  of  the  vista  Cadail- 
lac  has  edged  up  to  the  buffet  with  a  plate  and  a 
glass  of  wine  in  his  hand ;  he  listens,  eats  and 
drinks,  penetrated  to  the  very  centre  of  his  scepti- 
cism by  that  sudden  heat  of  joy: 

*'  Just  remember  this,  my  boy,"  said  he  to  Bois- 
saric,  *'  you  must  always  remain  to  the  end  at  a 
ball.  The  women  are  prettier  in  their  moist 
pallor,  which  does  not  reach  the  point  of  fatigue 
any  more  than  that  little  white  line  there  at  the 
windows  has  reached  the  point  of  being  daylight. 
There  is  a  little  music  in  the  air,  some  dust  that 
smells  nicely,  a  semi-intoxication  which  refines  a 
sensation  and  which  one  ought  to  savor  as  one 
eats  a  hot  chicken  wing  washed  down  with  chani- 


An  Evening  Party  at  the  Ministry.     185 

pagne  frappe.  —  There !  just  look  at  that,  will 
you. 

Behind  the  big  mirror  without  a  frame  the  faran- 
dole  was  lengthening  out,  with  all  arms  stretched, 
into  a  chain  alternate  of  black  and  light  notes  soft- 
ened by  the  disorder  of  the  toilets  and  hair  and  the 
mussiness  that  comes  from  two  hours'  dancing. 

''Isn't  that  pretty,  eh?  —  And  the  bully  boy 
at  the  end  there,  is  n't  he  smart !  "  Then  he 
added  coldly,  as  he  put  down  his  glass: 

"  All  the  same,  he  will  never  make  a  cent." 


1 86  Numa  Roumestan, 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  NORTH  AND  THE  SOUTH. 

There  never  had  been  any  great  sympathy  be- 
tween President  Le  Quesnoy  and  his  son-in-law. 
The  lapse  of  time,  frequent  intercourse  and  the 
bonds  of  relationship  had  not  been  able  to  narrow 
the  gap  between  these  two  natures,  or  to  vanquish 
the  intimidating  coolness  which  the  Provencal  felt 
in  the  presence  of  this  big,  silent  man,  with  his  pale 
and  haughty  face,  from  whose  height  a  steely-gray 
look,  which  was  the  look  of  Rosalie  without  her 
tenderness  and  indulgence,  fell  upon  his  lively 
nature  with  freezing  effect.  Numa,  with  his  mobile 
and  floating  nature,  always  overwhelmed  by  his 
own  conversation,  at  one  and  the  same  time  a  fiery 
and  a  complicated  nature,  was  in  a  state  of  con- 
stant revolt  against  the  logic,  the  uprightness,  the 
rigidity  of  his  father-in-law.  And  while  he  envied 
him  these  qualities,  he  placed  them  to  the  credit 
of  the  coldness  of  nature  in  this  man  of  the  North, 
that  extreme  North  which  the  President  represented 
to  him. 

"Beyond  him,  there's  the  wild  polar  bear  — 
beyond  that,  nothing  at  all  —  the  north  pole  and 
death." 

All  the  same  he  flattered  the  President,  endeav- 
ored to  cajole  him  with  adroit,  feline  tricks,  which 


The  North  and  the  South.  187 

were  his  baits  to  catch  the  Gaul.  But  the  Gaul, 
subtler  than  he  was  himself,  would  not  permit 
himself  to  be  taken  in,  and  on  Sunday,  in  the 
dining-room  at  the  Place  Royale,  at  the  moment 
when  politics  were  discussed,  whenever  Numa, 
softened  by  the  good  dinner,  attempted  to  make 
old  Le  Quesnoy  believe  that  in  reality  the  two 
were  very  close  to  an  understanding,  because  both 
wanted  the  same  thing,  namely,  liberty  —  it  was 
a  sight  to  see  the  indignant  toss  of  the  head  with 
which  the  President  penetrated  his  armor. 

"  Oh  !     Not  at  all,  not  the  same  by  any  means  !  " 

In  half-a-dozen  clear-cut,  hard  arguments,  he 
established  the  distances  between  them,  unmasked 
fine  phrases  and  showed  that  he  was  not  the  man 
to  be  taken  in  by  their  humbuggery.  Then  the 
lawyer  got  out  of  the  affair  by  joking,  though 
extremely  angry  at  bottom  and  particularly  on 
account  of  his  wife,  who  looked  on  and  listened 
without  ever  mixing  herself  up  with  political  talk. 
But  then  in  the  evening,  while  going  home  in  the 
carriage,  he  took  great  pains  to  prove  to  her  that 
her  father  was  lacking  in  common-sense.  Ah ! 
if  it  had  not  been  for  her  presence,  how  finely  he 
would  have  put  the  President  to  his  trumps !  In 
order  not  to  irritate  him,  Rosalie  avoided  taking 
part  with  either. 

"Yes,  it  is  unfortunate  —  you  don't  understand 
each  other  ..."  But  in  her  own  heart  she  agreed 
with  the  President. 

When  Roumestan  arrived  at  a  Minister's  port- 
folio the  coolness  between  the  two  men  only  be- 


1 88  Numa  Roumestan, 

came  greater.  M.  Le  Quesnoy  refused  to  show 
himself  at  his  son-in-law's  receptions  in  the  Rue 
de  Crenelle  and  he  explained  the  matter  very 
precisely  to  his  daughter. 

"Now,  please  tell  your  husband  this  —  let  him 
continue  to  visit  me  here,  and  as  often  as  possible ; 
I  shall  be  most  delighted.  But  you  must  not 
expect  ever  to  see  me  at  the  Ministry.  I  know 
well  enough  what  those  people  are  preparing  for 
us :  I  don't  want  to  have  the  appearance  of  being 
an  accomplice." 

After  all,  the  situation  between  them  was  saved 
in  the  eyes  of  society  by  that  heartfelt  sorrow, 
that  mourning  of  the  heart,  which  had  imprisoned 
the  Le  Quesnoys  in  their  own  home  for  so  many 
years.  Probably  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruc- 
tion would  have  been  very  much  embarrassed  to 
feel  the  presence  in  his  drawing-room  of  that 
sturdy  old  contradictor,  in  whose  presence  he 
always  remained  a  little  boy.  Still,  he  made 
believe  to  appear  wounded  by  that  decision ;  he 
struck  an  attitude  on  account  of  it,  a  thing  which 
is  very  precious  to  an  actor,  and  he  found  a  pre- 
text for  not  coming  to  the  Sunday  dinners  except 
very  irregularly,  making  as  a  plea  one  of  those 
thousand  excuses,  engagements,  meetings,  political 
banquets,  which  offer  so  wide  a  liberty  to  husbands 
in  politics. 

Rosalie,  on  the  contrary,  never  missed  a  Sunday, 
arriving  early  in  the  afternoon,  delighted  to  find 
again  in  the  home  circle  of  her  parents  that  taste 
of  the  family  which  her  official  life  hardly  permit- 


The  North  and  the  South.  189 

ted  her  the  leisure  to  satisfy.  Mme.  Le  Quesnoy 
being  still  at  vespers  and  Hortense  at  church  with 
her  mother,  or  carried  off  to  some  musical  matinee 
by  friends,  she  was  always  certain  to  find  her  father 
in  his  library,  a  long  room  crammed  from  top  to 
bottom  with  books.  There  he  was,  shut  in  with  his 
silent  friends,  his  intellectual  intimates,  the  only 
ones  with  whom  his  sorrow  had  never  found  fault. 
The  President  did  not  seat  himself  to  read;  he 
passed  the  shelves  in  review,  stopping  in  front  of 
some  finely  bound  books;  standing  there,  uncon- 
scious what  he  did,  he  would  read  for  an  hour  at 
a  time  without  recognizing  the  passage  of  time  or 
that  he  was  weary.  When  he  saw  his  eldest  daugh- 
ter enter,  he  would  give  a  pale  smile.  After  a  few 
words  were  exchanged,  because  neither  one  nor  the 
other  was  exactly  garrulous,  she  also  passed  in 
review  her  beloved  authors,  choosing  and  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  some  book  in  his  immediate 
neighborhood  in  that  somewhat  dusky  light  of  the 
big  courtyard  in  the  Marais,  where  the  bells,  sound- 
ing vespers  near  by,  fell  in  heavy  notes  amidst  the 
stillness  that  Sunday  brings  to  the  commercial 
quarters  of  a  city.  Sometimes  he  gave  her  an 
open  book: 

"  Read  that !  "  and  put  his  finger  under  a  pas- 
sage ;   and  when  she  had  read  it : 

**  That 's  fine,  is  it  not?  " 

There  was  no  greater  pleasure  for  that  young 
woman,  to  whom  life  was  offering  whatever  there 
was  of  brilliant  and  luxuriant  thincys,  than  the  hour 
passed   beside  that  mournful   and  aged  father   in 


IQO  Numa  Roumestan, 

whom  her  daughterly  adoration  was  raised  to  a 
double  power  by  other  and  intimate  bonds  alto- 
gether intellectual. 

It  was  to  him  she  owed  the  uprightness  of  her 
thought  and  that  feeling  for  justice  which  made 
her  so  courageous ;  to  him  also  her  taste  for  the 
fine  arts,  her  love  of  painting  and  of  fine  poetry  — 
because  with  Le  Quesnoy  the  continuous  petti- 
foggery of  the  law  had  not  succeeded  in  ossifying 
the  man  in  him. 

Rosalie  loved  her  mother  and  venerated  her,  not 
without  some  little  revolt  against  a  nature  which 
was  too  simple,  too  gentle,  annihilated  as  it  were 
in  her  own  home;  a  nature  which  sorrow,  that 
elevates  certain  souls,  had  crushed  to  the  earth 
and  forced  into  the  most  ordinary  feminine  occu- 
pations —  into  practical  piety,  into  housekeeping 
in  its  smallest  details.  Although  she  was  younger 
than  her  husband,  she  appeared  to  be  the  elder  of 
the  two,  judged  by  her  old  woman's  talk ;  she  was 
like  one  rendered  old  and  sorrowful,  who  searched 
all  the  warm  corners  of  her  memory  and  all  the 
souvenirs  of  her  infancy  in  a  land  hot  with  the  sun 
of  Provence.  But  above  all  things  the  church  had 
taken  possession  of  her;  since  the  death  of  her 
son  she  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  church  in 
order  to  put  her  sorrow  to  slumber  in  the  silent 
freshness  and  half-light  and  half-noise  of  the  lofty 
naves,  as  though  it  were  in  the  peace  of  a  cloister 
barred  by  heavy  double  gates  against  the  roar 
of  the  outer  life.  This  she  did  with  that  devout 
and  cowardly  egotism  of  sorrows  which  kneel  upon 


The  North  a7td  the  South.  191 

^  prie-Dieu  and  are  released  from  all  anxieties  and 
duties. 

Rosalie,  who  was  a  young  girl  already  at  the 
moment  of  their  mishap,  had  been  struck  by  the 
very  different  way  in  which  her  parents  suffered. 
Mme.  Le  Quesnoy,  renouncing  everything,  was 
steeped  in  a  tearful  religion,  but  Le  Quesnoy  set 
out  to  obtain  strength  from  daily  work  accom- 
plished. Her  tender  preference  for  her  father  arose 
in  her  through  the  exercise  of  her  reason.  Marriage, 
life  in  common  with  all  the  exaggerations,  lies  and 
lunacies  of  her  Southerner,  caused  her  to  feel  the 
shelter  of  the  silent  library  all  the  more  pleasantly 
because  it  was  a  change  from  the  grandiose,  cold 
and  official  interior  of  the  Ministry.  In  the  midst 
of  their  quiet  chat,  the  noise  of  a  door  was  heard,  a 
rustling  of  silk,  and  Hortense  would  enter. 

**  Ah,  ha  !     I  knew  I  should  find  you  here  !  " 

She  did  not  love  to  read,  Hortense  did  not. 
Even  novels  bored  her ;  they  were  never  romantic 
enough  to  suit  her  exalted  frame  of  mind.  After 
running  up  and  down  for  about  five  minutes  with 
her  bonnet  on,  she  would  cry: 

"  How  these  old  books  and  papers  do  smell 
stuffy!  Don't  you  find  it  so,  Rosalie?  Come  on, 
come  a  little  with  me !  Papa  has  had  you  long 
enough.     Now  it's  my  turn." 

And  so  she  would  carry  her  off  to  her  bedroom, 
their  bedroom ;  for  Rosalie  also  had  used  it  until 
she  was  twenty  years  old. 

There,  during  an  hour  of  delightful  chat,  she 
saw  about  her  all  those  things  which  had  been  a 


192  Numa  Roumestan, 

part  of  herself — her  bed  with  cretonne  curtains, 
her  desk,  her  etagere,  her  hbrary,  where  a  bit  of 
her  childhood  still  lingered  about  the  titles  of  the 
volumes  and  about  the  thousand  childish  things 
preserved  with  all  due  devotion.  Here  she  found 
again  her  old  thoughts  lying  about  the  corners 
of  that  young  girl's  bedroom,  more  coquettish  and 
ornamented,  it  is  true,  than  it  was  in  her  time. 
There  was  a  rug  on  the  floor ;  a  night  lamp  in  the 
shape  of  a  flower  hung  from  the  ceiling  and  fragile 
little  tables  stood  about  for  sewing  or  writing, 
against  which  one  knocked  at  every  step  ;  there 
was  more  elegance  and  less  order.  Two  or  three 
pieces  of  work  begun  were  hanging  over  the  backs 
of  the  chairs  and  the  open  desk  showed  a  windy 
scattering  of  note-paper  with  monograms.  When 
you  entered  there  was  always  a  minute  or  two  of 
trouble. 

"  O,  it 's  the  wind,"  said  Hortense  with  a  peal 
of  laughter.  "  The  wind  knows  I  adore  him ;  he 
must  have  come  to  see  if  I  was  at  home." 

"  They  must  have  left  the  window  open,"  an- 
swered Rosalie  quietly.  **  How  can  you  live  in 
such  an  interior?  For  my  part  I  am  not  able  to 
think  if  anything  is  out  of  place." 

She  rose  to  straighten  the  frame  of  a  picture 
fastened  to  the  wall;  it  irritated  her  eyes,  which 
were  as  exact  as  her  nature. 

"  O,  well !  it 's  just  the  contrary  with  me.  It 
puts  me  in  form.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  am 
travelling." 

This   difl*erence   in    their  natures  was   reflected 


The  North  and  the  South,  193 

on  the  faces  of  the  two  sisters.  Rosahe  had  regu- 
lar features  with  great  purity  in  their  hnes,  calm 
eyes  of  a  color  changing  constantly  like  that  of  a 
deep  lake ;  the  other's  features  were  very  irregular, 
her  expression  clever,  her  complexion  the  pale  tint 
of  a  Creole  woman.  There  were  the  North  and 
the  South  in  the  father  and  the  mother,  two  very 
different  temperaments  which  had  united  without 
merging  together;  each  was  perpetuating  its  own 
race  in  one  of  the  children,  and  all  this,  notwith- 
standing the  life  in  common,  the  similar  education 
ill  a  great  boarding-school  for  young  girls,  where, 
under  the  same  masters,  and  only  a  few  years  later, 
Hortense  was  taking  up  the  scholastic  tradition 
which  had  made  of  her  sister  an  attentive,  serious 
woman,  always  ready  to  the  minute,  absorbed  in 
her  smallest  acts.  That  same  education  had  left 
her  tumultuous,  fantastic,  unsteady  of  soul  and 
always  in  a  hurry.  Sometimes,  when  she  saw  her 
so  agitated,  Rosalie  cried  out: 

"  I  must  say  I  am  very  lucky ;  I  have  no 
imagination." 

"  As  for  me,  I  have  n't  anything  else,"  said 
Hortense;  and  she  reminded  her  how  at  boarding 
school,  when  M.  Baudouy  was  given  the  task  of 
teaching  them  style  and  the  development  of 
thought,  during  that  course  which  he  pompously 
termed  his  imagination  class,  Rosalie  had  never 
had  any  success,  because  she  expressed  every- 
thing in  a  few  concise  words,  whereas  she,  on  the 
other  hand,  given  an  idea  as  big  as  your  nail,  was 
able  to  blacken  whole  volumes  with  print. 

13 


194  Numa  Roumestan. 

"  That's  the  only  prize  I  ever  got —  the  imagi- 
nation prize !  " 

Despite  it  all  they  were  a  tenderly  united  couple, 
bound  to  each  other  by  one  of  those  affections 
between  an  elder  and  a  younger  sister  into  which 
an  element  of  the  filial  and  maternal  enters.  Rosa- 
lie took  her  about  with  her  everywhere,  to  balls, 
to  her  friends'  houses,  on  her  shopping  trips  in 
which  the  taste  of  Parisian  women  is  exercised  ; 
even  after  leaving  the  boarding-school  she  re- 
mained her  younger  sister's  little  mother.  And 
now  she  is  occupying  herself  with  getting  her 
married,  with  finding  for  her  some  quiet  and  trust- 
worthy companion,  indispensable  for  such  a  mad- 
cap as  she  is,  the  powerful  arm  which  is  needed 
to  offset  her  enthusiasms. 

It  was  plain  that  the  man  she  meant  was 
M6jean;  but  Hortense,  who  at  first  did  not  say 
no,  suddenly  showed  an  evident  antipathy.  They 
had  a  long  talk  about  it  the  day  following  the 
ministerial  reception,  when  Rosalie  had  detected 
the  emotion  and  trouble  of  her  sister. 

**0,  he  is  kind  and  I  like  him  well  enough,'* 
said  Hortense,  "  he  is  one  of  those  loyal  friends 
such  as  one  would  like  to  have  about  one  all  one's 
life ;  but  that  is  not  the  sort  of  husband  that  will 
do  for  me." 

"Why?" 

**  You  will  laugh  at  me.  He  does  not  appeal  to 
my  Imagination  enough  ;  there  it  is  !  A  marriage 
with  him  —  why  it  makes  me  think  of  the  house  of 
a  burgher,  right-angled  and  stiff,  at  the  end  of  an 


The  North  and  the  South,  195 

alley  of  trees  which  stand  as  straight  as  the  letter 
I ;  and  you  know  well  enough  that  I  love  some- 
thing else  —  the  unexpected,  surprises  —  " 

*'  Well,  who  then?     M.  de  Lappara?  " 

*'  Thank  you !  In  order  that  I  should  be  just 
a  wee  bit  preferred  to  his  tailor?" 

*'  M.  de  Rochemaure?" 

"  What,  that  model  red-tapist?  —  and  I  who  have 
a  perfect  horror  of  red  tape  !  " 

And  when  the  disquiet  which  Rosalie  showed 
pushed  her  to  the  wall,  for  she  wished  to  know 
everything  and  interrogated  her  closely: 

"  What  I  should  like  to  do,"  said  the  young 
girl,  while  a  faint  flame  like  a  fire  in  straw  rose 
into  the  pallor  of  her  complexion,  "  what  I  should 
like  to  do  — "  Then  in  a  changed  voice  and 
with  an  expression  of  fun: 

"  I  should  like  to  marry  Bompard  !  Yes,  Bom- 
pard ;  he  is  the  husband  of  my  dreams  —  at  any 
rate  he  has  imagination,  that  fellow,  and  some 
resources  against  deadly  dulness !  " 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  passed  up  and  down 
the  room  with  that  gait,  a  little  inclined  over, 
which  made  her  seem  even  taller  than  her  figure 
warranted.  People  did  not  recognize  Bompard's 
worth;  but  what  pride  and  what  dignity  of  ex- 
istence were  his,  and,  with  all  his  craziness,  what 
logic ! 

"  Numa  wanted  to  give  him  a  place  in  the  office 
close  to  him;  but  he  would  not  take  it,  he  pre- 
ferred to  live  in  honor  of  his  chimera.  And 
people   actually  accuse    the   South  of  France    of 


196  Numa  Roumesia7i. 

being  practical  and  industrious  !  —  but  there  is  the 
man  to  give  that  legend  the  lie.  Why,  look 
here  —  he  was  telling  me  this  the  other  night  at 
the  ball  —  he  is  going  to  brood  out  ostrich  eggs 
—  an  artificial  brood  machine  —  he  is  positive 
that  he  will  make  millions,  —  and  he  is  far  more 
happy  than  if  he  had  those  millions !  Why,  it 
is  a  perpetual  life  in  fairy-land  with  a  man  of  that 
sort.  Let  them  give  me  Bompard  ;  I  want  nobody 
but  Bompard  !  " 

''Well,  well,  I  see  I  shall  learn  nothing  more 
to  day  either,"  said  the  big  sister  to  herself,  who 
divined  underneath  these  lively  sallies  something 
deep  down  below. 

One  Sunday  when  she  reached  her  old  home 
Rosalie  found  Mme.  Le  Quesnoy  awaiting  her  in 
the  vestibule,  who  told  her  with  an  air  of  mystery: 

"There's  somebody  in  the  drawing-room  —  a 
lady  from  the  South." 

"Aunt  Portal?" 

"  You  shall  see  —  " 

It  was  not  Mme.  Portal,  but  a  saucy  Provencal 
girl  whose  deep  curtsy  in  the  rustic  way  came  to 
an  end  in  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Hortense ! " 

Her  skirt  reaching  to  the  tops  of  her  black 
shoes,  her  waist  increased  by  the  folds  of  tulle 
belonging  to  the  big  scarf,  her  face  framed  among 
the  falling  waves  of  hair  kept  in  place  by  a  little 
bonnet  made  of  cut  velvet  and  embroidered  with 
butterflies  in  jet,  Hortense  looked  very  like  the 
chatos  whom  one  sees  on  Sunday  practising  their 


The  North  a^id  the  South,  197 

coquetries  on  the  Tilting  Field  at  Aries,  or  else 
walking,  two  and  two,  with  lowered  lashes,  through 
the  pretty  columns  of  St.  Trophyme  cloisters, 
whose  denticulated  architecture  goes  very  well 
with  those  ruddy  Saracen  reds  and  with  the  ivory 
color  of  the  church  in  which  a  flame  of  a  conse- 
crated candle  trembles  in  the  full  daylight. 

*'  Just  see  how  pretty  she  is  !  "  said  her  mother, 
standing  in  ecstasy  before  that  lively  personifica- 
tion of  the  land  of  her  youthful  days.  Rosalie, 
on  the  other  hand,  shuddered  with  an  inexplicable 
sadness,  as  if  that  costume  had  taken  her  sister 
far,  far  away  from  her. 

"  Well,  that  is  a  fantastic  idea !  It  is  very  be- 
coming to  you,  but  I  like  you  far  better  as  a 
Parisian  girl.     And  who  dressed  you  so  well?" 

"  Audiberte  Valmajour.     She  has  just  gone  out." 

"  How  often  she  comes  here ! "  said  Rosalie, 
going  into  their  room  to  take  off  her  bonnet. 
"•  What  a  friendship  it  is !  I  shall  begin  to  get 
jealous." 

Hortense  excused  herself,  a  little  bit  embar- 
rassed ;  this  head-dress  from  Provence  gave  so 
much  pleasure  to  their  mother  in  the  sober 
house. 

"Is  it  not  true,  mother?"  cried  she,  going  from 
one  room  into  the  other.  *'  Besides,  that  poor  girl 
feels  so  outlandish  in  Paris  and  is  so  interesting 
with  her  blind  devotion  to  the  genius  of  her 
brother." 

''Oh!  Genius,  is  it?"  said  the  big  sister,  toss- 
ing her  head  a  bit. 


1 98  Numa  Roumestan, 

"What!  You  saw  it  yourself  the  other  night 
at  your  house,  the  effect  it  produced  —  every- 
where just  the  same  thing !  " 

And  when  RosaHe  answered  that  one  must  es- 
timate at  their  real  value  these  successes  won  in 
the  world  of  society  and  due  to  politeness,  a  ca- 
price of  an  evening,  the  last  fad : 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,  he  is  in  the  opera !  " 

The  velvet  band  on  the  little  head-dress  bristled 
up  in  sign  of  revolt,  as  if  it  were  really  covering 
one  of  those  enthusiastic  heads  above  whose  pro- 
file it  floats,  down  there  in  Provence.  Besides,  the 
Valmajours  were  not  peasants  like  others,  but  the 
last  remnants  of  a  reduced  family  of  nobles. 

Rosalie,  standing  in  front  of  the  tall  mirror, 
turned  about  laughing: 

"  What !     You  believe  in  that  legend?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  do.  They  descend  in  direct 
line  from  the  Princes  des  Baux.  There  are  the 
parchments  and  there  are  the  coats  of  arms  at 
their  rustic  doorway.  Any  day  that  they  should 
wish—" 

Rosalie  shuddered.  Behind  the  peasant  who 
played  the  flute  there  was  the  prince  besides. 
Given  a  strong  imagination  —  and  that  might 
become  dangerous. 

"  None  of  that  story  is  true,"  and  this  time  she 
did  not  laugh  any  more.  "  In  the  district  of  Aps 
there  are  ten  families  bearing  that  so-called  princely 
name.  Anybody  who  told  you  otherwise  told  a 
falsehood  through  vanity  or  through — " 

"  But  it  was  Numa —  it  was  your  husband.     The 


The  North  and  the  South,  199 

other  night  at  the  Ministry  he  gave  us  all  sorts  of 
details." 

"O  !  You  know  how  it  is  with  him  —  you  have 
got  to  consider  the  focus,  as  he  says  himself." 

Hortense  was  not  listening.'  She  had  gone  back 
into  the  drawing-room,  and,  seated  at  the  piano, 
she  began  in  a  loud  voice : 

"  Mount'  as  passa  ta  matinado, 
Mourbieu,  Marioun  ..." 

It  was  an  old  popular  ballad  of  Provence,  sung 
to  an  air  as  grave  as  a  church  recitative,  that  Numa 
had  taught  his  sister-in-law;  one  that  he  enjoyed 
hearing  her  sing  with  her  Parisian  accent,  which, 
sliding  over  the  Southern  articulations,  made  one 
think  of  Italian  spoken  by  an  Englishwoman. 

"  Ou  as-tu  passd  ta  matinde,  morbleu,  Marion? 

A  la  fontaine  chercher  de  Teau,  mon  Dieu,  mon  ami. 

Quel  est  celui  qui  te  parlait,  morbleu,  Marion? 

C'est  une  de  mes  camarades,  mon  Dieu,  mon  ami. 

Les  femmes  ne  portent  pas  les  brayes,  morbleu,  Marion. 

C'est  sa  robe  entortillde,  mon  Dieu,  mon  ami. 

Les  femmes  ne  portent  pas  I'^pde,  morbleu,  Marion. 

C'est  sa  quenouille  qui  pendait,  mon  Dieu,  mon  ami. 

Les  femmes  ne  portent  pas  les  moustaches,  morbleu,  Marion, 

C'est  des  mures  qu'elle  mangeait,  mon  Dieu,  mon  ami. 

Le  mois  de  mai  ne  porte  pas  de  mures,  morbleu,  Marion. 

C'etait  une  branche  de  I'automne,  mon  Dieu,  mon  ami. 

Va  m'en  chercher  une  assiettee,  morbleu,  Marion. 

Les  petits  oiseaux  les  ont  toutes  mangdes,  mon  Dieu,  mon 

ami. 
Marion !  .  .  .  je  te  couperai  ta  tete,  morbleu,  Marion. 
Et  puis  que  ferez-vous  du  reste,  mon  Dieu,  mon  ami? 
Je  le  jetterai  par  la  fenetre,  morbleu,  Marion, 
Les  chiens,  les  chats  en  feront  fete,  .  .  ." 


200  Numa  Ronmestan, 

She  Interrupted  herself  In  order  to  fling  out  his 
words  with  the  gesture  and  Intonation  that  Numa 
used  when  he  got  excited.  *'  There,  look  you,  me 
children  !   't  Is  as  folne  as  Shakespeare." 

''  Yes,  a  picture  of  manners  and  customs,"  said 
Rosalie,  coming  up  to  her,  "  the  husband  gross 
and  brutal,  the  wife  catlike  and  mendacious  —  a 
true  household  In  Provence  !  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,"  said  Mme.  Le  Quesnoy,  In 
a  tone  of  gentle  reproof,  the  tone  that  Is  used 
when  ancient  quarrels  have  become  the  habit. 
The  piano-stool  whisked  quickly  around  and 
brought  face  to  face  with  Rosalie  the  cap  of  the 
furious  little  Provence  girl. 

**  'T  Is  really  too  much  !  what  harm  has  it  ever 
done  to  you,  our  South?  as  for  me,  I  adore  it! 
I  did  not  know  it  at  the  time,  but  that  voyage  you 
made  me  take  revealed  to  me  my  real  country. 
It  Is  no  use  to  have  been  baptized  at  St.  Paul's; 
I  belong  down  there,  I  do — I  am  a  child  of  the 
'  little  square.'  Do  you  know,  Mamma,  some  one 
of  these  days  we  will  just  leave  these  cold  North- 
eners  planted  right  here,  and  we  two  will  go  down 
to  live  In  our  beautiful  South,  where  people  sing 
and  dance  —  the  South  of  the  winds,  of  the  sun,  of 
the  mirage,  of  everything  that  makes  one  poetic 
and  widens  one's  life  — 

'  It  is  there  I  would  wish  to  dw-e-e-11.' " 

Her  two  agile  hands  fell  back  upon  the  piano, 
scattering  the  end  of  her  dream  in  a  tumult  of 
resounding  notes. 


The  North  and  the  South.  201 

"  And  not  one  word  about  the  tabor-player !  " 
thought  Rosalie.     "  That 's  a  serious  thing  !  " 

It  was  a  good  deal  more  serious  than  she 
imagined. 

From  the  day  when  Audiberte  had  seen  Mile. 
Le  Quesnoy  fasten  a  flower  on  the  tabor  of  her 
brother,  from  that  very  moment  there  arose  in 
her  ambitious  soul  a  splendid  vision  of  the  future, 
which  had  not  been  without  its  effect  on  their 
transplantation  to  Paris.  The  reception  which 
Hortense  gave  her,  when  she  came  to  complain 
about  her  brother's  obstination  in  running  after 
Numa,  defined  and  strengthened  her  in  her  still 
vague  hope.  And  since  then,  gradually,  without 
opening  her  mind  to  her  men-folks  otherwise  than 
through  half  words,  she  prepared  the  path  with  the 
duplicity  of  the  peasant  woman  who  is  nearly  an 
Italian,  gliding  and  crawling  forward.  From  her 
seat  in  the  kitchen  in  the  Place  Royale,  where  she 
began  by  waiting  timidly  in  a  corner  on  the  edge 
of  a  chair,  she  crept  into  the  drawing-room  and 
installed  herself,  always  neat  and  trig,  in  the  posi- 
tion of  a  poor  relation. 

Hortense  was  crazy  about  her,  showed  her  to 
her  friends  as  if  she  were  a  pretty  piece  of  bric-a- 
brac  brought  from  that  land  of  Provence  which 
she  always  spoke  of  with  enthusiasm.  And  the 
other  girl  played  herself  off  as  more  simple  than 
nature  allows,  exaggerated  her  savage  rages,  her 
tirades  of  wrath  with  clenched  fist  against  the 
muddy  sky  of  Paris,  and  would  often  use  a  charm- 
ing little  exclamation,  Boiidiotiy  the  effect  of  which 


202  Numa  Roumestan, 

she  arranged  and  watched  like  a  kittenish  girl  on 
the  stage.  The  President  himself  had  smiled  at 
this  Boudiou,  and  just  to  think  of  having  made  the 
President  smile ! 

But  it  was  in  the  young  girl's  bedroom,  when 
they  were  alone,  that  she  put  all  her  tricks  in 
play.  All  of  a  sudden  she  would  kneel  at  her 
feet,  would  seize  her  hand,  go  into  ecstasies  over 
the  smallest  points  of  her  toilet,  her  way  of  mak- 
ing a  bow  in  a  ribbon,  her  manner  of  dressing  her 
hair,  letting  slip  those  heavy  compliments  directly 
in  her  face,  which  give  great  pleasure  all  the 
same,  so  spontaneous  and  na'i've  do  they  appear. 

Oh,  when  the  young  lady  stepped  out  of  the 
carriage  in  front  of  the  mas  [the  farm-house], 
she  thought  she  saw  the  queen  of  the  angels  in 
person !  and  she  was  for  a  time  speechless  at  the 
sight,  and  her  brother,  peca'ire,  when  he  heard 
on  the  stones  of  the  descending  road  the  noise  of 
the  carriage  which  took  back  the  little  Parisian, 
he  said  it  was  as  if  those  stones,  one  by  one,  were 
falling  on  his  heart.  She  played  a  great  role  with 
regard  to  this  brother,  his  pride  and  his  anxieties 
—  his  anxieties,  now  why?  I  just  ask  you  why  — 
since  that  reception  at  the  *'Menistry"  he  was 
being  talked  about  in  all  the  papers  and  his  por- 
trait was  seen  everywhere  and  such  invitations  as 
he  got  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germoine — why  he 
could  n't  meet  them  all !  Duchesses,  countesses, 
wrote  him  notes  on  splendid  paper—  they  had 
coronets  on  their  letters  just  like  those  on  the 
carriages  which  they  sent  to  bring  him  in;    and 


The  North  and  the  South.  20 


still  —  well,  no,  he  wasn't  happy, the  "pore"  man! 
All  these  things  whispered  in  Hortense's  ear  gave 
her  some  share  of  the  fever  and  magnetic  will- 
power of  the  peasant  girl.  Then,  without  looking 
at  Audiberte,  she  asked  if  perhaps  Valmajour  did 
not  have  down  there  in  Provence  a  betrothed  who 
was  waiting  for  him. 

"He  a  betrothed?  —  avail  you  do  not  know 
him  —  he  has  much  too  much  belief  in  himself  to 
desire  a  peasant  girl.  The  richest  girls  have  been 
on  his  track,  the  Des  Combette  girl,  and  then  still 
another,  and  a  lot  of  gay  ladies  —  you  know  what 
I  mean !  He  did  not  even  look  at  them.  Who 
knows  what  it  is  he  is  revolving  in  his  head?  Oh, 
these  artists  —  " 

And  that  word,  a  new  one  for  her,  assumed  on 
her  ignorant  lips  an  expression  hard  to  define, 
somewhat  like  the  Latin  spoken  at  mass,  or  some 
cabalistic  formula  picked  up  in  a  book  of  magic. 
The  heritage  which  would  come  from  Cousin  Puy- 
fourcat  returned  again  and  again  during  the  course 
of  this  adroit  gossip. 

There  are  very  few  families  in  the  South  of 
France,  whether  artisans  or  burghers,  who  do  not 
possess  a  Cousin  Puyfourcat,  an  adventurer  who 
has  departed  in  early  youth  in  search  of  fortune 
and  has  never  written  since,  whom  they  love  to 
imagine  enormously  rich.  He  is  like  a  lottery 
ticket  running  for  an  indefinite  time,  a  chimerical 
vista  opening  up  fortune  and  hope  in  the  distance, 
which  at  last  they  end  by  taking  for  a  fact.  Audi* 
berte  believed  firmly  in  the  fortune  of  that  cousin 


204  Numa  Roumestan, 

and  she  talked  about  it  to  the  young  girl,  less  for 
the  purpose  of  dazzling  her  than  in  order  to  dimin- 
ish the  social  gap  which  separated  them.  When 
Puyfourcat  should  die,  her  brother  was  to  buy 
Valmajour  back  again,  cause  the  castle  to  be  re- 
built and  his  patent  of  nobility  acknowledged,  be- 
cause everybody  said  that  the  necessary  papers 
were  extant. 

At  the  close  of  such  chats  as  these,  which  were 
sometimes  prolonged  deep  into  the  twilight,  Hor- 
tense  remained  for  a  long  time  silent,  her  forehead 
pressed  against  the  pane,  and  saw  the  high  towers 
of  that  reconstructed  castle  as  they  lifted  them- 
selves in  the  rose-colored  winter  sunset,  the  terrace 
shining  with  torches  and  resounding  with  concerts 
in  honor  of  the  chatelaine. 

**  Boiidiou,  how  late  it  is,"  cried  the  peasant  girl, 
seeing  that  she  had  brought  her  to  the  point  where 
she  desired,  "  and  the  dinner  for  my  men  is  not 
ready  yet !     I  must  fly  !  " 

Very  often  Valmajour  came  and  waited  for  her 
downstairs ;  but  she  never  allowed  him  to  come 
upstairs.  She  felt  that  he  was  so  awkward  and 
coarse,  and  cold,  besides,  toward  any  idea  of  flat- 
tering.    She  had  no  use  for  him  yet. 

Somebody  who  was  very  much  in  her  way,  too, 
but  difficult  to  escape,  was  Rosalie,  with  whom  her 
feline  ways  and  her  false  innocency  did  not  take  at 
all.  In  her  presence  Audiberte,  her  terrible 
black  brows  knit  across  her  forehead,  did  not  say  a 
single  word ;  and  in  that  Southern  silence  there 
rose  up  along  with  the  racial  hatred  that  anger  of 


The  North  and  the  South, 


205 


the  weak  person,  underhand  and  vindictive,  which 
turns  against  the  obstacle  most  dangerous  to  its 
projects.  Her  real  grievance  was  Rosalie,  but  she 
talked  about  quite  other  ones  to  her  little  sister. 
For  example,  Rosalie  did  not  like  tabor-playing; 
then  **  she  did  not  do  her  religious  duties  —  and  a 
woman  who  does  not  do  her  religion,  you  know  ..." 
Audiberte  did  her  religion  and  in  the  most  tremen- 
dous way;  she  never  missed  a  single  mass  and 
she  went  to  communion  on  the  proper  days.  But 
all  that  did  not  hinder  in  any  way  her  actions; 
intriguer,  liar  and  hypocrite  as  she  was,  violent  to 
the  verge  of  crime,  she  drew  from  the  Bible  texts 
nothing  but  excuses  for  vengeance  and  hatred. 
Only  she  kept  her  honor  in  the  feminine  sense  of 
the  word.  With  her  twenty-eight  years  and  her 
pretty  face,  in  those  low  quarters  where  the  Valma- 
jours  were  moving  nowadays,  she  preserved  the 
severe  chastity  of  her  thick  peasant's  scarf,  bound 
about  a  heart  which  had  never  beat  with  any  emo- 
tion beside  ambition  for  her  brother. 

**  Hortense  makes  me  anxious  —  look  at  her 
there." 

Rosalie,  to  whom  her  mother  whispered  this 
confidentially  in  a  corner  of  the  drawing-room  at 
the  Ministry,  thought  that  Mme.  Le  Quesnoy  shared 
her  own  anxiety,  but  the  observation  made  by  the 
mother  referred  merely  to  the  physical  condition 
of  Hortense,  who  had  not  been  able  to  cure  her- 
self of  a  bad  cold.  Rosahe  looked  at  her  sister; 
always  the  same  dazzling   complexion,  liveliness 


2o6  Numa  Roumestan, 

and  gayety ;  she  coughed  a  little,  but  what  of  that? 
only  as  all  Parisian  girls  do  after  the  ball  season ! 
The  summer  would  certainly  put  her  back  again 
in  good  shape  very  quickly. 

"And  have  you  spoken  to  Jarras  about  her?" 

Jarras  was  a  friend  of  Roumestan,  one  of  the 
old  boys  of  the  Cafe  Malmus.  He  assured  her 
that  it  was  nothing  and  suggested  a  course  at  the 
waters  of  Arvillard. 

"  All  right,  then  ;  you  must  get  off  quickly,"  said 
Rosalie  with  vivacity,  delighted  with  this  pretext 
of  getting  Hortense  away. 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  your  father,  who  would  be 
alone  —  " 

"  I  will  go  and  see  him  every  day  —  " 

Then,  sobbing,  the  poor  mother  acknowledged 
the  horror  which  such  a  trip  with  her  daughter 
caused  her.  During  an  entire  year  it  had  been 
necessary  for  her  to  run  from  one  watering  place 
to  another  for  the  sake  of  the  child  they  had  al- 
ready lost.  Was  it  possible  that  she  would  have 
to  begin  again  the  same  pilgrimage,  with  the  same 
frightful  results  in  prospect?  And  the  other,  too, 
—  the  disease  had  seized  him  at  the  age  of  twenty, 
in  his  full  health,  in  his  full  powers  — 

'*  Oh  Mamma,  do  be  quiet!  " 

And  Rosalie  scolded  her  gently:  Come,  now; 
Hortense  was  not  ill;  the  doctor  said  that  the 
trip  would  only  be  a  pleasure  party;  Arvillard, 
in  the  Alps  of  Dauphiny,  was  a  marvellous  coun- 
try; she  herself  would  like  nothing  better  than 
to    accompany  Hortense  in  her   mother's   place ; 


The  North  a7id  the  South.  207 

unfortunately,  she  could  not  do  it.  Reasons  most 
serious  — 

*'  Yes,  yes.  I  understand  —  your  husband,  the 
Ministry  —  " 

"  O,  no.     It  is  n't  that  at  all !  " 

And  to  her  mother,  in  that  nearness  of  heart 
which  they  so  seldom  found  affecting  them:  **  Lis- 
ten, then,  but  for  you  alone  —  nobody  knows  it, 
not  even  Numa  .  .  ."  she  acknowledged  a  still  very 
fragile  hope  of  a  great  happiness  which  she  had 
quite  despaired  of,  the  happiness  which  made  her 
wild  with  joy  and  fear,  the  entirely  new  hope  of  a 
baby  who  might  perhaps  be  born  to  them. 


2o8  Numa  Rotimestan, 


CHAPTER   XL 

A  WATERING-PLACE. 

ARVILLARD   LES   BAINS, 

2d  August^  '76. 

\ 

"Well,  it  is  queer  enough,  this  place  from  which 
I  am  writing  to  you.  Imagine  a  square  hall,  very 
lofty,  paved  with  stones,  done  in  stucco  work  —  a 
sonorous  hall,  where  the  daylight  falling  through 
two  enormous  windows  is  veiled  down  to  the  low- 
est pane  with  blue  curtains  and  further  obscured 
by  a  sort  of  floating  vapor,  having  a  taste  of  sul- 
phur in  it,  which  clings  to  one's  clothes  and  tar- 
nishes one's  gold  ornaments.  In  this  hall  are 
people  seated  near  the  walls,  on  benches,  chairs 
and  stools  round  little  tables  —  people  who  look  at 
their  watches  every  minute,  get  up  and  go  out, 
leaving  their  seats  to  others,  letting  one  see  each 
time  through  the  half-open  door  a  mob  of  bathers 
moving  about  in  the  brightly  lit  vestibule  and  the 
flowing  white  aprons  of  the  serving  women  who 
dash  here  and  there.  In  spite  of  all  this  move- 
ment, no  noise,  but  a  continual  murmur  of  con- 
versation in  low  voices,  newspapers  being  unfolded, 
badly  oxidized  pens  scratching  on  paper,  a  solem- 
nity as  in  a  church  —  the  whole  place  bathed  and 
refreshed    by   the    big    stream    of  mineral    water 


A    Watering-Place,  209 

arranged  in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  the  rush  of 
which  breaks  itself  against  a  disk  of  metal,  Is 
crushed  to  pieces,  separates  in  jets  and  turns  to 
powder  above  the  great  basins  placed  one  upon 
the  other  and  all  dripping  with  moisture.  This  is 
the  inhalation  hall. 

"  I  must  let  you  know,  my  dear  girl,  that  every- 
body does  not  inhale  in  the  same  way.  For  In- 
stance, the  old  gentleman  who  sits  in  front  of  me 
at  this  moment  follows  the  prescriptions  of  the 
doctor  to  the  letter,  for  I  recognize  them  all.  Our 
feet  placed  upon  a  stool  and  our  chest  pushed 
forward,  let  us  pull  in  our  elbows  and  keep  our 
mouth  open  all  the  time  to  make  the  inspiration 
easy.  Poor,  dear  man  !  How  he  does  inhale,  with 
what  a  confidence  in  the  result !  What  little  round 
eyes  he  has,  credulous  and  devout,  which  seem  to 
be  saying  to  the  spring: 

"  '  O  spring  of  Arvillard,  cure  me  well ;  see  how 
I  Inhale  you,  see  what  faith  I  have  in  you  — ' 

"  Then  we  have  the  skeptic,  who  inhales  with- 
out inhaling,  his  back  bent,  shrugging  his  shoulders 
and  rolling  up  his  eyes.  Then  there  are  the  dis- 
couraged ones,  the  people  who  are  really  sick  and 
feel  the  uselessness  and  nothingness  of  all  this. 
One  poor  lady,  my  neighbor,  I  see  putting  her 
finger  quickly  to  her  mouth  every  little  while 
to  see  if  her  glove  is  not  stained  at  the  tip  with 
a  red  blot.  But,  all  the  same,  people  find  some 
means  to  be  gay.  Ladies  who  belong  in  the  same 
hotel  push  their  chairs  near  to  each  other,  form 
groups,  do  their  embroidery,  gossip  In  a  low  voice, 

M 


2IO  Numa  Roufnestan, 

discuss  the  newspaper  of  the  baths  and  the  h'st 
of  strangers  just  arrived.  Young  persons  bring 
out  their  EngHsh  novels  in  red  covers,  priests 
read  their  breviaries  —  there  are  a  great  many 
priests  at  Arvillard,  particularly  missionaries  with 
big  beards,  yellow  faces,  voices  hoarse  from  having 
preached  so  long  the  word  of  God.  As  to  me, 
you  know  I  don't  care  about  novels,  particularly 
those  novels  of  to-day  in  which  everything  happens 
just  like  things  in  everyday  Hfe.  So  for  my  part 
I  take  up  my  correspondence  with  two  or  three 
designated  victims  —  Marie  Tournier,  Aurelie  Dan- 
saert  and  you,  great  big  sister  whom  I  adore ! 
Look  out  for  regular  journals  !  Just  think,  two 
hours  of  inhalation  in  four  times,  and  that  every 
day!  Nobody  here  inhales  as  much  as  I  do, 
which  is  as  much  as  saying  that  I  am  a  real  phe- 
nomenon. People  look  at  me  a  good  deal  for  this 
reason  and  I  have  no  little  pride  in  it. 

"  As  to  the  rest  of  the  treatment —  nothing  else 
except  the  glass  of  mineral  water  which  I  go  and 
drink  at  the  spring  in  the  morning  and  evening, 
and  which  ought  to  triumph  over  the  obstinate 
veil  which  this  horrid  cold  has  thrown  over  my 
voice.  There  is  the  special  point  of  the  Arvillard 
waters  and  for  that  reason  the  singers  and  song- 
stresses make  this  place  their  rendezvous.  Hand- 
some Mayol  has  just  left  us,  with  his  vocal  cords 
entirely  renewed.  Mile.  Bachellery,  whom  you 
remember  —  the  little  diva  at  your  reception  — 
has  found  herself  so  well  in  consequence  of  the 
treatment  that  after  having  finished  three  regular 


A    Waterin<r-P lace,  2 1 1 


«b 


weeks  she  has  begun  three  more,  wherefore  doth 
the  newspaper  of  the  baths  bestow  upon  her  great 
praise.  We  have  the  honor  of  dwelHng  in  the 
same  hotel  with  that  young  and  illustrious  person, 
adorned  with  a  tender  Bordeaux  mother,  who  at 
the  table  </V2^/<?. advertises  *  good  appetites'  in  the 
salad  and  talks  of  the  one-hundred-and-forty-franc 
bonnet  which  her  young  lady  wore  at  the  last 
Longchamps  races  —  a  delicious  couple,  and  greatly 
admired  among  us  all !  We  go  into  ecstasies  over 
the  childish  graces  of  Bebe,  as  her  mother  calls 
her,  over  her  laughter,  her  trills,  the  tossings  of 
her  short  skirt.  We  crowd  together  in  front  of 
the  sanded  courtyard  of  the  hotel  in  order  to  see 
her  do  her  game  of  croquet  with  the  little  girls 
and  little  boys  —  she  will  play  with  none  but 
the  little  ones — to  see  her  run  and  jump  and 
send   her  ball  like   a   real  street  boy. 

**  *  Look  out,  I  'm  going  to  roquet  you,  Master 
Paul ! ' 

"■  Everybody  says  of  her,  'What  a  child  she  is  !  * 
As  for  me,  I  believe  that  those  false  childish  ways 
are  a  part  of  a  role  which  she  is  playing,  just  like 
her  skirts  with  big  bows  on  them  and  her  hair 
looped  up  postillon-style.  Then  she  has  such  an 
extraordinary  way  of  kissing  that  great  big  Bor- 
deaux woman,  of  suspending  herself  to  her  neck, 
of  allowing  herself  to  be  cradled  and  held  in  her 
lap  before  all  the  world  !  You  know  well  enough 
how  caressing  I  am — well,  honor  bright!  it  makes 
me  feel  embarrassed  when  I  kiss  mamma. 

"A  very  singular  family,  too,  but  less  amusing, 


212  Ntuna  Roumestan, 

consists  of  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Anhalt,  of 
Mademoiselle  their  daughter,  and  the  governess, 
chamber-women  and  suite,  who  occupy  the  entire 
first  floor  of  the  hotel  and  are  the  grand  person- 
a^^^es  thereof.  I  often  meet  the  princess  on  the 
stair  going  up  step  by  step  on  the  arm  of  her  hus- 
band —  a  handsome  gallant,  bursting  with  health 
under  his  military  hat  turned  up  with  blue.  She 
never  goes  to  the  bathing-hall  except  in  a  sedan 
chair  and  it  is  heartrending  to  see  that  wrinkled 
and  pale  face  behind  the  little  pane  of  the  chair; 
father  and  child  walk  at  the  side,  the  child  very 
wretched-looking,  with  all  the  features  of  her 
mother  and  very  likely  also  all  of  her  malady. 
This  little  creature,  eight  years  old,  who  is  not 
allowed  to  play  with  the  other  children  and  who 
looks  down  sadly  from  the  balcony  on  the  games 
of  croquet  and  the  riding-parties  at  the  hotel, 
bores  herself  to  death.  They  think  that  her  blood 
is  too  blue  for  such  common  joys  and  prefer  to 
keep  her  in  the  gloomy  atmosphere  of  that  dying 
mother,  by  the  side  of  that  father  who  shows  his 
sick  wife  to  the  public  with  an  impudent  and  worn- 
out  face,  or  give  the  child  over  to  the  servants. 

"But  heavens,  it's  a  kind  of  pest,  it's  an 
infectious  disease,  this  nobility  business !  These 
people  take  their  meals  by  themselves  in  a  little 
dining-room  ;  they  inhale  by  themselves  —  because 
there  are  separate  halls  for  families  —  and  you  can 
imagine  the  mournfulness  of  that  companionship 
—  that  woman  and  the  little  girl  together  in  a 
great  silent  vault ! 


A    Watering' Place.  2 1 3 

"  The  other  evening  we  were  together  in  con- 
siderable number  in  the  big  room  on  the  ground 
floor  where  the  guests  unite  to  play  little  games, 
sing  and  even  occasionally  to  dance.  Mamma 
Bachellery  had  just  accompanied  Bebe  in  a 
cavatina  from  an  opera  —  you  know  *  we  '  want 
to  enter  the  opera ;  in  fact,  we  have  come  to 
Arvillard  to  *  cure  up  our  voice  for  that'  accord- 
ing to  the  elegant  expression  of  the  mother.  All 
of  a  sudden  the  door  opened  and  the  princess 
made  her  appearance,  with  that  grand  air  which  is 
her  own  —  near  her  end  but  elegant,  wrapped  in 
the  lace  mantle  which  hides  the  terrible  and  signif- 
icant narrowness  of  her  shoulders.  The  little  girl 
and  the  father  followed. 

**  *  Go  on,  I  beg  of  you  —  *  coughed  the  poor 
woman. 

*'  And  would  you  believe  it?  that  idiot  of  a  little 
singer  must  choose  out  all  of  her  repertory  the 
most  harrowing,  the  most  sentimental  ballad 
*  Vorrei  morir'  something  like  our  *  Dying 
Leaves '  in  Italian,  a  ballad  of  a  sick  woman  who 
fixes  the  date  of  her  death  in  autumn,  in  order  to 
give  herself  the  illusion  that  all  nature  will  die 
along  with  her,  enveloped  in  the  first  autumnal 
fog  as  in  a  winding  sheet ! 

"  '  Vorrei  morir  nella  stagion  deW  anno!* 
(Oh  !  let  me  pass  away  when  dies  the  year.) 

"  It  is  a  graceful  air,  but  with  a  sadness  in  it 
which  is  increased  by  the  caressing  sound  of  the 
Italian  words ;  and  there  in  the  middle  of  that  big 


214  Numa  Roumestan. 

drawing-room,  into  which  penetrated  all  sorts  of 
perfumes  through  the  open  window,  the  little 
breezes,  too,  and  the  freshness  of  a  fine  summer 
night,  this  longing  to  live  on  until  autumn,  this 
truce  and  surcease  asked  of  the  malady  took  on 
something  too  poignant  to  bear.  Without  saying 
a  word,  the  princess  stood  up  and  quickly  left  the 
room.  In  the  shadows  of  the  garden  I  heard  a 
sob,  one  long  sob,  then  the  voice  of  a  man  scold- 
ing, and  then  those  tearful  complaints  which  a 
child  makes  when  it  sees  its  mother  sorrowing. 

"  That  is  the  mournfulness  of  such  watering- 
places  :  these  miseries  concerning  health  which  meet 
one  everywhere,  these  persistent  coughs  scarcely 
deadened  by  the  hotel  partitions,  these  precautions 
taken  with  handkerchiefs  pressed  upon  the  mouth 
in  order  to  keep  off  the  air,  these  chats  and  con- 
fidences, the  miserable  meaning  of  which  one 
divines  from  the  hand  moving  toward  the  chest  or 
toward  the  back  near  the  shoulder-blade,  from 
the  sleepy  manner,  the  dragging  gait  and  the 
fixed  idea  of  misfortune. 

"■  Mamma,  poor  mamma,  who  knows  the  stages  in 
sickness  of  the  lungs,  says  that  at  Eaux-Bonnes 
or  at  Mont  Dore  it  is  a  very  diff"erent  thing 
from  what  it  is  here.  To  Arvillard  people  send 
only  convalescents  like  myself  or  else  desperate 
cases  for  which  nothing  can  do  any  more  good. 
Luckily  at  our  hotel  Alpes  Dauphinoises  we  have 
only  three  sick  persons  of  that  sort,  the  princess 
and  two  young  Lyon  people,  brother  and  sis- 
ter,    orphans     and    very    rich,    they     say,    who 


A    Watering- Place,  2 1 5 

appear  to  be  on  their  last  legs  ;  especially  the 
sister,  with  that  pallid  complexion  of  the  Lyon 
women,  as  if  seen  under  water  ;  she's  wound  up  in 
morning  gowns  and  knit  shawls,  without  one  jewel 
or  ribbon  —  not  a  single  glimpse  of  coquetry  about 
her! 

*'  She  looks  poverty-stricken,  that  rich  girl ;  she  is 
certainly  lost  and  she  knows  it;  she  is  in  despair 
and  abandons  herself  to  despair.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  the  bent  figure  of  the  young  man,  tightly 
squeezed  into  a  fashionable  jacket,  there  is  a  cer- 
tain terrible  determination  to  live,  an  incredible 
force  of  resistance  to  the  malady. 

"  '  My  sister  has  no  spring  in  her  —  but  I  have 
plenty !  '  said  he  the  other  day  at  the  table  d  'hote, 
in  a  voice  quite  eaten  away,  which  is  as  difficult  to 
hear  as  the  ut  note  of  Vauters  the  diva  when  she 
sings.  And  the  fact  i,s,  he  does  have  springs  in  the 
most  surprising  way;  he  is  the  make-fun  of  the 
hotel,  the  organizer  of  games,  card-parties  and 
excursions ;  he  goes  out  riding  and  driving  in  sleds, 
that  kind  of  little  sled  laden  with  fagots  on  which 
the  mountaineers  of  this  country  toboggan  you 
down  the  steepest  slopes ;  he  waltzes  and  fences, 
shaken  with  the  terrible  spasms  of  coughing  which 
never  stop  him  for  a  moment. 

"  We  have,  beside,  a  medical  luminary  here  — 
you  remember  him  — Dr.  Bouchereau,  the  man 
whom  mamma  went  to  consult  about  our  poor 
Andrew.  I  do  not  know  whether  he  has  recog- 
nized us,  but  he  never  bowed  —  a  regular  old 
bear ! 


2i6  Numa  Roumestan. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  drinking  my  half-glass 
of  water  at  the  spring.  This  precious  spring  is 
ten  minutes  away,  as  one  ascends  in  the  direction 
of  the  high  peak,  in  a  gorge  where  a  torrent  all 
feathery  with  foam  rolls  and  thunders,  having 
come  from  the  glacier  which  closes  the  view,  a 
glacier  shining  and  clear  between  the  blue  Alps 
that  seems  to  be  forever  crumbling  and  dissolving 
its  invisible  and  snowy  base  into  that  white  mass 
of  beaten  water.  Great  black  rocks  dripping  con- 
stantly among  the  ferns  and  lichens,  the  groves  of 
pine  and  a  dark  green  foliage,  a  soil  in  which 
spicules  of  mica  glitter  in  the  coal  dust  —  that  is 
the  place;  but  something  that  I  cannot  express  to 
you  is  the  tremendous  noise  of  the  torrent 
tearing  among  the  stones  and  of  the  steam-ham- 
mer of  a  lumber  mill,  which  the  water  sets  in  action ; 
and  then,  besides,  in  this  narrow  gorge,  on  its 
single  road,  which  is  always  crowded,  there  are  coal- 
carts,  long  files  of  mules,  riding  parties  of  excur- 
sionists and  the  water  drinkers  going  and  coming. 
I  forgot  to  mention  the  apparition  at  the  doors  of 
wretched  dwellings  of  some  horrible  male  or  female 
cretin,  displaying  a  hideous  goitre,  a  great  big 
idiotic  face  with  an  open  and  grumbling  mouth ! 
Cretinism  is  one  of  the  products  of  the  country; 
it  seems  that  Nature  here  is  too  strong  for  human 
beings  and  that  the  minerals  and  the  rest  —  cop- 
per, iron  and  sulphur — seize,  strangle  and  suffo- 
cate them  ;  that  that  water  flowing  from  the  peaks 
chills  them  as  it  does  those  wretched  trees  which 
one  sees  growing  all  dwarfed  between  two  crags. 


A    Watering- P lace,  217 

There's  another  of  those  impressions  made  upon 
a  new  arrival,  the  mournfulness  and  horror  of 
which  disappear  in  the  course  of  a  few  days. 

"■  For  now,  instead  of  flying  from  them,  I  have 
my  special  pet  sufferers  from  goitre,  one  in  partic- 
ular, a  frightful  little  monster,  perched  on  the 
border  of  the  road  in  a  chair  fit  for  a  child  of 
three  years  old;  but  he  is  sixteen,  exactly  the 
age  of  Mile.  Bachellery.  When  I  near  him, 
he  dodders  about  his  head,  as  heavy  as  a  stone, 
and  gives  forth  a  hoarse  cry,  a  crushed  cry  without 
understanding  and  without  style ;  and  as  soon  as 
he  has  received  his  piece  of  silver,  he  raises  it  in 
triumph  toward  a  charcoal-woman,  who  is  watch- 
ing him  from  the  corner  of  a  window.  He  is  a  piece 
of  good  fortune  envied  by  a  great  many  mothers, 
for  this  hideous  creature  takes  in,  by  himself  alone, 
more  than  his  three  brothers  do,  who  are  at  work 
at  the  furnaces  of  La  Debout.  His  father  does 
nothing  at  all;  afflicted  with  consumption,  he 
passes  the  winter  by  his  poor  man's  hearth  and  in 
summer  installs  himself  on  a  bench  with  other 
unhappy  ones  in  the  warm  mist  which  the  hot 
springs  create  as  they  pour  forth. 

**  The  young  lady  of  the  springs,  in  her  white 
apron  and  with  dripping  hands,  fills  the  glasses 
which  are  held  out  to  her,  as  they  come  along, 
while  in  the  courtyard  near  by,  separated  from  the 
road  by  a  low  wall,  heads  are  seen,  the  bodies  of 
which  one  cannot  perceive,  heads  thrown  back- 
ward, contorted  with  their  efforts,  grinning  in  the 
sunshine,  their  mouths  wide  open;  'tis  an  illus- 


2i8  Numa  Roumestan, 

tration  for  the  Inferno  of  Dante:  the  sinners 
damned  to  gargling ! 

"  Sometimes,  when  we  leave,  we  go  the  big 
round  while  returning  to  the  estabhshment  and 
descend  by  the  country  way.  Mamma,  whom  the 
noise  of  the  hotel  fatigues  and  who  particularly 
fears  lest  I  should  dance  too  much  in  the  drawing- 
room,  had  indulged  the  dream  of  hiring  a  little 
house  in  Arvillard,  where  there  is  plenty  of  choice 
at  every  door;  on  every  story  there  are  bills, 
which  flutter  among  the  potted  plants  between 
the  fresh  and  tempting  curtains.  One  asks  one- 
self what  on  earth  becomes  of  the  inhabitants  dur- 
ing the  season;  do  they  camp  in  bands  on  the 
surrounding  mountains,  or  do  they  go  and  live  in 
the  hotel  at  fifty  francs  a  day?  It  would  surprise 
me  if  it  were  so,  for  that  magnet  which  they  carry 
in  their  eye  when  they  look  at  the  bather  seems  to 
me  terribly  rapacious  —  there  is  something  in  it 
which  glitters  and  catches  hold. 

''  Yes,  that  same  shining  something,  that  sudden 
gleam  on  the  forehead  of  my  little  boy  with  the 
goitre,  reflected  from  his  piece  of  silver — I  find  it 
everywhere;  on  the  spectacles  of  the  little  nerv- 
ous doctor  who  auscults  me  every  morning,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  good  sugarly-sweet  ladies  who  ask  you 
in  to  examine  their  houses,  their  most  convenient 
little  gardens,  crammed  with  holes  full  of  water  and 
kitchens  on  the  ground  floor  to  serve  the  apart- 
ments in  the  third  story;  in  the  eyes  of  carmen 
with  their  short  blouses  and  lacquered  hats  decked 
with  big  ribbons,  who  make  signs  to  you  from  the 


A    Watering-P lace,  2 1 9 

boxes  of  their  carryalls ;  in  the  look  cast  by  the 
donkey-boy  standing  in  front  of  the  wide-open 
barn  in  which  long  ears  switch  to  and  fro  ;  yes,  even 
in  the  glances  of  these  donkeys,  in  their  long  look 
of  obstinacy  and  gentleness,  I  have  seen  that  me- 
tallic hardness  which  the  love  of  money  gives;  I 
have  seen  it,  it  exists. 

"After  all,  their  houses  are  frightful,  huddled 
together  and  mournful,  having  no  outlook,  full  of 
disagreeable  points  of  all  kinds  which  are  impos- 
sible to  ignore,  because  your  attention  has  been 
drawn  to  them  in  the  house  next  door.  Decidedly 
we  shall  stick  to  our  caravansary,  the  Alpes  Dau- 
phinoises,  which  lies  hot  in  the  sun  on  its  height 
and  steeps  its  red  bricks  and  uncountable  green 
shutters  in  the  middle  of  an  English  park  not  yet 
of  age,  a  park  with  hedges,  labyrinth  and  sanded 
roads,  the  enjoyment  of  which  it  shares  with  five 
or  six  other  overgrown  hotels  of  the  country  —  La 
Chevrette,  La  Laita,  Le  Breda,  La  Planta. 

"All  these  hotels  with  Savoy  names  are  in  a 
state  of  ferocious  rivalry;  they  spy  upon  each 
other,  watch  each  other  across  the  copses,  and 
there  is  a  merry  war  as  to  which  shall  put  on  the 
most  style  with  its  bells,  its  pianos,  the  whip-crack- 
ing of  its  postilions,  its  expenditure  of  fireworks; 
or  which  one  shall  throw  its  windows  widest  open 
in  order  that  the  animation  there,  the  laugh- 
ter, songs  and  dances  shall  appeal  to  the  visitors 
lodged  in  the  opposite  hotel  and  make  them  say: 

"  *  How  they  do  amuse  themselves  down  there  ! 
What  a  lot  of  people  they  must  have ! ' 


220  Numa  Roumestan, 

**  But  the  place  where  the  hottest  battle  goes  on 
between  the  rival  taverns  is  in  the  columns  of  the 
Bathers  Gazette,  where  those  lists  of  new  arrivals 
are  printed,  which  the  little  sheet  gives  with  mi- 
nute exactness,  twice  a  week. 

"What  envious  rage  at  the  Laita  or  the  Planta 
when,  for  example,  they  read : 

*'  *  Prhice  and  Princess  of  Anhalt  and  their  suite ^ 
.   .  .  Alpes  Daiiphinoises! 

**  Everything  becomes  colorless  in  the  light  of 
that  crushing  line.  What  response  can  there  be? 
They  rack  their  brains ;  they  try  their  wits ;  if  you 
are  possessed  of  a  de  or  some  title,  they  drag  it 
out  and  flaunt  it.  Why,  here  's  La  Chevrette  has 
been  serving  us  up  the  very  same  Inspector  of 
Forests  three  times  under  as  many  different  species, 
as  Inspector,  as  Marquis,  and  as  Chevalier  of  Saints 
Maurice  and  Lazarus ;  but  the  Alpes  Dauphinoises 
is  still  wearing  the  cockade,  though  you  may  be 
sure  it  is  not  on  our  account.  Great  heavens  !  You 
know  how  retiring  mamma  always  is,  and  afraid  of 
her  shadow;  well,  she  took  good  care  to  forbid 
Fanny  saying  who  we  were,  because  the  position 
of  papa  and  that  of  your  husband  might  have 
drawn  about  us  too  much  idle  curiosity  and  social 
riffraff.  The  newspaper  said  merely  Mesdaines 
Le  Quesnoy  de  Paris y  .  .  .  Alpes  Dauphinoises  ;  and 
as  Parisians  are  few  and  far  between  our  incognito 
has  not  been  unveiled. 

"  We  are  very  simply  arranged,  but  comfortably 
enough  —  two  rooms  on  the  second  floor,  the  whole 
valley  lying  before  us,  an  amphitheatre  of  moun- 


A    Watering- Place,  221 

tains  black  with  pine  woods  far  below  —  mountains 
which  show  various  shades  and  get  lighter  and 
lighter  as  they  rise  with  their  streaks  of  eternal 
snow ;  barren  steeps  close  upon  little  farms  which 
look  like  squares  in  green  and  yellow  and  rose, 
among  which  the  haycocks  look  no  larger  than 
bee-hives. 

"  But  this  beautiful  landscape  does  little  to  keep 
us  in  our  rooms.  In  the  evening  there  is  the  draw- 
ing-room, in  the  day  time  we  wander  through  the 
park  to  carry  out  the  treatment.  In  connection  with 
an  existence  so  full  and  yet  so  empty,  the  treatment 
takes  hold  of  and  absorbs  you.  The  amusing 
hour  is  the  one  after  breakfast,  when  groups  are 
formed  about  the  little  tables  for  coffee  under  the 
big  lime-tree  at  the  entrance  of  the  garden ;  this  is 
the  hour  for  arrivals  and  departures.  People  ex- 
change good-byes  and  shake  hands  about  the  car- 
riage which  is  taking  off  the  bathers;  the  hotel 
people  press  forward,  their  eyes  brilliant  with  that 
shiny  look,  that  famous  sheen  of  the  Savoyard ; 
we  kiss  people  whom  we  hardly  know;  handker- 
chiefs are  waved.;  the  horse-bells  jangle,  and  then 
the  heavy  and  crowded  wagon  disappears,  swaying 
along  the  narrow  road  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  car- 
rying off  with  it  those  names  and  faces  which  for  a 
moment  have  made  a  part  of  our  life  in  common, 
those  faces  unknown  yesterday  and  to-morrow 
forgot. 

"  Others  come  and  install  themselves  after  their 
own  fashion.  I  imagine  that  this  is  like  the  monot- 
ony of  packet-ships,  with  the  change  of  faces  at 


22  2  Numa  Roumestan, 

every  port.  All  this  going  and  coming  amuses  me, 
but  poor  dear  mamma  continues  to  be  very  sorrow- 
ful, very  much  absorbed,  in  spite  of  the  smile  which 
she  tries  to  give  when  I  look  at  her.  I  can  guess 
that  every  detail  of  our  lives  brings  with  it  for  her 
a  heartrending  souvenir,  a  memory  of  the  gloom- 
iest images.  Poor  thing,  she  saw  so  many  of  those 
caravansaries  of  sick  people  during  that  year  when 
she  followed  her  poor  dying  boy  from  stage  to  stage, 
in  the  lowlands  or  on  the  mountains,  beneath  the 
pines  or  at  the  edge  of  the  sea,  with  hope  always 
deceived  and  that  eternal  resignation  which  she  was 
ever  obliged  to  show  during  her  martyrdom. 

^'  I  do  think  that  Jarras  might  have  arranged  to 
save  her  from  the  memory  of  this  sorrow;  for  as 
for  me,  I  am  not  sick,  I  cough  hardly  at  all,  and 
with  the  exception  of  my  disgusting  huskiness, 
which  leaves  me  with  a  voice  fit  for  crying  vege- 
tables in  the  street,  I  have  never  been  so  well  in 
my  life.  A  real  devilish  appetite,  would  you 
believe  it?  fits  of  hunger  so  terrible  that  I  can 
hardly  wait  for  a  meal !  Yesterday,  after  a  break- 
fast with  thirty  dishes,  with  a  menu  more  involved 
than  the  Chinese  alphabet,  I  saw  a  woman  stem- 
ming raspberries  before  our  door.  All  of  a  sudden 
a  desire  seized  me ;  two  bowls  full,  my  dear  girl, 
two  bowls  full  of  the  great  big  fresh  raspberries, 
*  the  fruit  of  the  country,'  as  our  waiter  calls 
them,  and  there  you  have  my  appetite  ! 

**  All  the  same,  my  dear,  how  lucky  it  is  that 
neither  you  nor  I  have  taken  the  malady  of  that 
poor  brother  of  ours,  whom  I  hardly  knew  and 


A   Watering- Place,  223 

whose  discouraged  expression,  which  is  shown  on 
his  portrait  in  our  parents*  chamber,  comes  back 
to  me  here,  when  I  see  other  faces  with  their  drawn 
features !  And  what  an  odd  fish  is  this  doctor  who 
formerly  took  care  of  him,  this  famous  Bouche- 
reau  !  The  other  day  mamma  wanted  to  present 
me  to  him ;  in  order  to  obtain  a  consultation  with 
him  we  prowled  around  the  park  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  old,  long-legged  fellow  with  his  brutal 
and  harsh  face.  But  he  was  very  much  surrounded 
by  the  Arvillard  doctors,  who  were  listening  to 
him  with  all  the  humbleness  of  pupils.  Then  we 
waited  for  him  at  the  close  of  the  inhalation ;  all 
our  labor  in  vain  !  The  fellow  set  off  walking  at 
such  a  pace  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  avoid 
us.  You  know  with  mamma  one  does  not  get  over 
ground  fast;  so  we  missed  him  again  this  time. 
Finally,  yesterday  morning,  Fanny  went  on  our 
part  to  ask  of  his  housekeeper  if  he  could  receive 
us ;  he  sent  back  word  that  he  was  at  the  baths  to 
care  for  his  own  health  and  not  to  give  medical 
advice  !  There  's  a  boor  for  you  !  It  is  quite  true 
that  I  have  never  seen  such  a  pallor  as  he  pre- 
sents; it  is  like  wax;  papa  is  a  highly-colored 
gentleman  by  the  side  of  him.  He  lives  only  upon 
milk,  never  comes  down  to  the  dining-room  and 
still  less  to  the  drawing-room.  Our  little  nervous 
doctor,  the  one  whom  I  call  M.  That's-what-you- 
need,  will  have  it  that  he  is  the  victim  of  a  very 
dangerous  heart  malady  and  it  is  only  the  waters 
of  Arvillard  which  have  for  the  past  three  years 
permitted  him  to  stay  alive. 


2  24  Numa  Roumestan, 

"  *  That  's  what  you  need  !  That  's  what  you 
need !  ' 

**  That  is  all  that  one  can  make  out  in  the  bab- 
ble of  this  funny  little  man,  as  vain  as  he  is  gar- 
rulous, who  whirls  round  our  apartments  every 
morning. 

"  '  Doctor,  I  don't  sleep  —  I  believe  this  treat- 
ment agitates  me'  .  .  .  *That'swhat  you  need!' 
'Doctor,  I  am  always  so  sleepy  —  I  think  it  must 
be  that  mineral  water.*  ...  *  That  's  what  you 
need  !  ' 

"  What  he  seems  to  need  more  than  anything 
else  is  that  his  tour  of  visits  should  be  made  quickly, 
in  order  that  he  may  be  at  his  consultation  office 
before  ten  o'clock,  in  that  little  fly-box  where  the 
patients  are  crammed  together  as  far  out  as  the 
stairs  and  down  the  steps  as  far  as  the  curb-stone. 
And  I  can  tell  you  he  does  n't  loaf  much,  but  whips 
you  off  a  prescription  without  stopping  for  one 
moment  his  jumping  and  prancing,  like  a  bather 
who  is  trying  to  get  his  '  reaction.' 

"  O,  yes,  that  reaction  !  That 's  another  story, 
too.  As  for  me,  I  shall  take  neither  baths  nor 
douches,  so  I  don't  make  my  reaction,  but  I 
remain  sometimes  a  quarter  of  an  hour  under 
the  lindens  of  the  park,  looking  at  the  march  up 
and  down  of  all  these  people  who  walk  with  long, 
regular  steps  and  a  deeply  absorbed  look,  passing 
each  other  without  saying  one  word.  My  old 
gentleman  of  the  inhalation  hall,  the  man  who 
trys  to  propitiate  the  springs,  carries  on  this  exer- 
cise with  the  same  punctuality  and  conscientious' 


A    Watering- Place.  225 

ness.  At  the  entrance  to  the  shaded  walk  he 
comes  to  a  full  stop,  shuts  his  white  umbrella,  turns 
down  the  collar  of  his  coat,  looks  at  his  watch, 
and  —  forward,  march  !  Each  leg  stiff,  elbows  to 
his  side,  one,  two !  one,  two !  as  far  as  the  long 
pencil  of  white  light  which  the  absence  of  a  tree, 
forming  there  an  opening,  throws  across  the  alley  at 
that  point.  He  never  goes  farther  than  that,  raises 
his  arms  three  times  as  if  he  had  dumb-bells  in  his 
hands,  then  returns  in  the  same  fashion,  brandishes 
dumb-bells  once  more,  and  does  this  for  fifteen 
turns,  one  after  the  other.  I  have  an  idea  that  the 
department  for  the  crazy  people  at  Charenton 
must  have  somewhat  the  same  features  that 
my  alley  presents  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning." 

6  August. 
"  So  it  is  true,  after  all,  Numa  is  coming  to 
see  us?  O,  how  dehghted  I  am!  how  deHghted 
I  am!  Your  letter  has  just  come  by  the  one 
o'clock  mail  which  is  distributed  at  the  office  of 
the  hotel.  It  is  a  solemn  moment  which  is  deci- 
sive of  the  hue  and  color  of  the  entire  day.  The 
office  is  crammed  and  people  arrange  themselves 
in  a  semicircle  around  fat  Mme.  Laugeron,  who  is 
very  imposing  in  her  morning  gown  of  blue  flannel, 
whilst  in  her  authoritative  voice  with  a  bit  of  manner 
in  it,  the  voice  of  a  former  lady's  companion,  she 
reads  off  the  many-colored  addresses  of  the  mail. 
At  the  call  each  one  advances,  and  it  is  my  duty 
to  tell  you  that  we  put  a  certain  amount  of  personal 
pride  in  having  a  big  mail.      In  what  does  one  not 

15 


226  Numa  Roumestan, 

show  some  personal  pride,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
during  this  perpetual  rubbing  shoulders  of  vanities 
and  of  follies?  Just  to  think  that  I  should  reach 
the  point  of  being  proud  of  my  two  hours  of 
inhalation ! 

"  '  The  Prince  of  Anhalt  —  M.  Vasseur—  Mile.  Le 
Quesnoy — *  Deceived  again !  it  is  only  my  fash- 
ion journal.  *  Mile.  Le  Quesnoy  —  *  I  give  a 
glance  to  see  if  there  is  nothing  more  for  me  and 
skip  with  your  dear  letter  away  down  to  the  end 
of  the  garden,  where  there  is  a  bench  surrounded 
by  big  walnuts. 

"  Here  it  is  — this  is  my  own  bench,  the  corner 
where  I  go  to  be  alone  in  order  to  dream  and  build 
my  Spanish  castles ;  for  it  is  a  singular  thing  that 
in  order  to  invent  well  and  to  develop  oneself 
intellectually  according  to  the  precepts  laid  down 
by  M.  Baudouy,  I  do  not  need  very  wide  horizons. 
If  my  landscape  is  too  big,  I  lose  myself  in  it,  I 
scatter  myself,  t  is  all  up  with  me.  The  only  bore 
about  my  bench  is  the  neighborhood  of  the  swing, 
where  that  little  Bachellery  girl  passes  half  her  day 
in  letting  herself  be  swung  into  space  by  the  young 
man  who  believes  in  having  springs.  I  should 
think  he  must  have  plenty  of  spring  in  order  to 
push  her  that  way  by  the  hour  together;  at  every 
moment  come  babyish  cries  and  musical  roulades  : 
*  Higher,  higher  yet,  a  little  more  —  ' 

"  Heavens !  How  that  girl  does  get  on  my 
nerves  I  I  wish  that  swing  would  pass  her  off  and 
up  into  a  cloud  and  that  she  would  never  come 
back  again  I 


A    Watering-Place,  227 

**  Things  are  so  nice  upon  my  bench,  so  far  away, 
when  she  is  not  there  !  I  have  thoroughly  enjoyed 
your  letter,  the  postscript  of  which  made  me  utter 
a  cry  of  delight. 

"  O,  blessed  be  Chambery  and  its  new  college 
and  that  corner-stone  to  be  laid,  which  brings  the 
Minister  of  Public  Instruction  into  our  district. 
He  will  be  very  comfortable  here  for  the  prepara- 
tion of  his  speech,  either  walking  about  our  shady 
alley,  the  *  reaction  alley,'  (come,  that  was  n't  bad 
for  a  pun  !)  or  else  beneath  my  walnuts,  when  Miss 
Bachellery  is  not  scaring  them  with  her  cries.  My 
dear  Numa !  I  get  on  so  well  with  him ;  he  is  so 
lively,  so  gay !  How  we  shall  chat  together  about 
our  Rosalie  and  the  serious  motive  which  prevents 
her  from  travelling  at  this  time  —  O  great  Heavens, 
that  was  a  secret !  —  and  poor  mamma,  who  has 
made  me  swear  so  often  about  it !  she  is  the  one 
who  will  be  glad  enough  to  see  dear  Numa  again. 
On  this  occasion  she  quite  lost  every  sort  of 
timidity  or  modesty;  you  ought  to  have  seen  the 
majesty  with  which  she  entered  the  office  of  the 
hotel  in  order  to  take  an  apartment  for  her  son-in- 
law,  the  Minister!  O,  what  fun,  the  face  of  our 
landlady  hearing  this  news  ! 

"  <  Why  —  what  —  my  ladies,  you  are —  you  were 
— ?' 

**  *  Yes,  we  were  —  yes,  we  are  — ' 

"  Her  broad  face  turned  lilac  and  poppy-colored 
— a  very  palette  for  an  impressionist  painter.  And 
so  with  M.  Laugeron  and  the  entire  hotel  service. 
Since  our  arrival  we  have  been  demanding  a(n  extra 


228  Numa  Roumestan, 

candlestick  in  vain;  now  there  are  five  on  the 
chimneypiece.  I  can  promise  you  that  Nnma  will 
be  well  served  and  installed ;  they  will  give  him 
the  first  story,  occupied  by  the  Prince  of  Anhalt, 
which  will  be  vacant  in  three  days.  It  appears 
that  the  waters  of  Arvillard  are  bad  for  the  prin- 
cess;  and  even  the  little  doctor  himself  believes  it 
is  better  that  she  should  leave  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible. That  is  what  is  best  —  because  it  a  tragedy 
should  occur  the  Alpes  Dauphinoises  would  never 
recover  from  the  blow. 

*'  It  is  really  pitiable,  the  hurry  there  is  about 
the  departure  of  these  wretched  people,  the  way 
they  edge  them  off,  the  way  they  shove  them  along 
in  consequence  of  that  magnetic  hostility  which 
places  seem  to  exhale  where  a  person  is  no  longer 
wanted.  Poor  Princess  of  Anhalt,  whose  arrival 
here  was  made  such  a  festival !  a  little  more  an^ 
they  would  have  her  conducted  to  the  borders  of 
the  department  between  two  policemen — that  is 
the  hospitality  of  watering  places  ! 

"And  by  the  way,  how  about  Bompard?  You 
have  n't  told  me  whether  he  is  coming  too  or  not. 
Dangerous  Bompard !  If  he  should  come  I  am 
quite  capable  of  eloping  with  him  on  some  glacier. 
What  intellectual  development  might  we  not  dis- 
cover between  us,  as  we  approached  the  snowy 
peaks  !  I  laugh,  I  am  so  delighted  —  and  I  go  on 
inhaling,  a  little  embarrassed,  it  is  true,  by  the 
neighborhood  of  that  terrible  Bouchereau,  v/ho  has 
just  come  in  and  seated  himself  two  seats  away 
from  me. 


A    Watering- Place.  229 

**What  an  obdurate  air  he  has,  that  man,  to  be 
sure !  His  hands  crossed  on  the  knob  of  his  cane 
and  chin  resting  on  his  hands,  he  talks  away  in  a 
high  voice,  looking  straight  ahead,  without  really- 
speaking  to  anybody.  Do  you  suppose  that  I 
must  take  it  as  a  lesson  for  me,  what  he  says  of  the 
lack  of  prudence  among  the  ladies  who  bathe, 
about  their  gowns  of  thin  linen,  about  the  folly  of 
going  out  of  doors  after  dinner  in  a  country  where 
the  evenings  are  mortally  cold  ?  Horrid  man,  one 
would  believe  he  is  aware  that  I  propose  this  even- 
ing to  beg  for  charities  at  the  Arvillard  church 
in  aid  of  the  work  of  the  propaganda!  Father 
Olivieri  is  to  describe  from  the  pulpit  his  mission- 
ary trips  into  Thibet,  his  captivity  and  martyrdom, 
while  Mile.  Bachellery  will  sing  the  *  Ave  Maria  * 
of  Gounod,  and  I  am  going  to  have  the  greatest 
fun  on  our  return  to  the  hotel,  marching  through 
all  the  little  dark  streets  by  lantern-light,  just  like 
a  regular  '  retreat '  with  torches. 

"  If  that  is  a  consultation  on  my  health  which 
M.  Bouchereau  was  giving  me,  I  don't  want  it; 
it  is  too  late.  In  the  first  place,  my  very  dear 
sir !  I  have  full  permission  from  my  little  doctor, 
who  is  far  more  amiable  than  you  are  and  has 
even  allowed  me  to  take  a  turn  at  a  waltz  in  the 
drawing-room  at  the  close.  Oh,  only  a  little  one, 
of  course ;  besides,  if  I  dance  a  little  too  much, 
everybody  goes  for  me !  They  do  not  understand 
that  I  am  robust,  notwithstanding  a  figure  like  a 
long  lead-pencil  and  that  a  Parisian  girl  never  gets 
ill  from  dancing  too  much.      'Look  out  now  — 


230  Numa  Roumesian. 

don^t  tire  yourself  too  much.'  This  woman  will 
bring  me  up  my  shawl,  that  man  will  close  the 
window  at  my  back  for  fear  that  I  should  catch 
cold ;  but  the  most  interested  of  all  is  the  youth 
with  springs,  because  he  has  discovered  that  I 
have  a  devilish  deal  more  springs  than  his  sister. 

"  Poor  girl,  that  would  not  be  difficult !  Between 
you  and  me,  I  believe  that,  rendered  desperate  by 
the  frigidity  of  Alice  Bachellery,  this  young  gentle- 
man has  retired  upon  me  and  proposes  to  make 
love  to  me  —  but  alas,  how  he  loses  his  labor;  for 
my  heart  is  taken,  it  is  all  Bompard's !  —  O,  well, 
after  all,  no,  it  is  not  Bompard's,  and  you  know 
that  too.  The  personage  in  my  romance  is  not 
Bompard,  it  is  —  it  is  —  ha,  ha  !  so  much  the  worse 
for  you  !  my  hour  is  up  ;  I  will  tell  you  some  other 
day,  Miss  Haughtiness  !  " 


A    Watering-Place,  231 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  WATERING-PLACE  {continued). 

The  morning  on  which  the  Bathers'  Gazette  an- 
nounced that  his  Excellency,  the  Minister  of  Public 
Instruction,  with  his  secretary  Bompard  and  staff, 
had  taken  quarters  in  the  Alpes  Dauphinoises, 
great  was  the  demoralization  in  the  surrounding 
hotels.  It  just  happened  that  La  Laita  had  been 
keeping  dark  for  two  days  a  Catholic  bishop  from 
Geneva  in  order  to  produce  him  at  the  proper 
moment,  as  well  as  a  Councillor-General  from  the 
Department  of  the  Isere,  a  Lieutenant-Judge  from 
Tahiti,  an  architect  from  Boston  —  in  fact,  a  whole 
cargo  ;  La  Chevrette  was  on  the  point  of  receiving 
also  a  "  Deputy  from  the  Rhone  and  family."  But 
the  Deputy,  the  Lieutenant-Judge  and  all  disap- 
peared, lost  in  the  illustrious  mass  of  flame,  the 
flame  of  glory,  which  followed  Numa  Roumestan 
everywhere ! 

People  talked  only  of  him,  occupied  themselves 
about  him  only.  Any  pretext  was  good  enough 
to  introduce  oneself  into  the  Alpes  Dauphinoises 
in  order  to  pass  before  the  little  drawing-room 
on  the  ground  floor  looking  into  the  garden  where 
the  Minister  took  his  meals  with  his  ladies  and  his 
secretary;   to  see  him  taking  a  hand  in  a  game  of 


232  Numa  Roumestan, 

bowls,  dear  to  Southern  Frenchmen,  with  Father 
Olivieri  of  the  Missions,  a  holy  man  and  terribly 
hairy,  who,  along  of  having  lived  among  savages, 
had  taken  unto  himself  their  manners  and  customs, 
uttering  terrible  cries  when  taking  aim  and  brand- 
ishing the  balls  above  his  head  when  letting  fly  as 
if  they  were  tomahawks. 

The  Minister's  handsome  features,  the  oiliness 
of  his  manners,  won  him  all  hearts,  but  more 
especially  his  sympathy  for  the  poor.  The  day 
after  his  arrival  the  two  waiters  who  served  on  the 
first  floor  announced  at  the  hotel  office  that  the 
Minister  was  going  to  take  them  to  Paris  for  his 
personal  servants.  Now,  as  they  were  good  work- 
men, Mme.  Laugeron  pulled  a  very  wry  face,  but 
allowed  nothing  to  be  seen  by  his  Excellency, 
whose  presence  was  of  such  great  importance  and 
honor  to  her  hotel.  The  prefect  and  the  rector 
made  their  appearance  from  Grenoble  in  full  fig  to 
present  their  respects  to  Roumestan.  The  Abbot 
of  La  Grande  Chartreuse  —  for  Roumestan  made  a 
pleading  on  their  side  against  the  Premontres  and 
their  liqueur  —  sent  him  with  the  greatest  pomp  a 
case  of  extra-fine  chartreuse;  and  finally  the  Pre- 
fect of  Chambery  came  to  get  his  orders  for  the 
laying  of  the  corner-stone  for  the  new  college,  a 
good  occasion  for  a  manifesto  in  a  speech  and  for 
a  revolution  in  the  methods  at  the  universities. 

But  the  Minister  asked  for  a  little  rest.  The 
labors  of  the  session  had  wearied  him ;  he  wanted 
to  have  a  chance  to  get  a  breath,  to  live  quietly  in 
the  midst  of  his  family  and  prepare  at  leisure  this 


A    Watering-Place,  233 

Chambdry  speech,  which  had  such  a  considerable 
importance.  And  the  prefect  understood  that  per- 
fectly well ;  he  only  asked  to  be  notified  forty-eight 
hours  before  in  order  that  he  might  give  the 
necessary  brilliancy  to  the  ceremony.  The  corner- 
stone had  been  waiting  for  two  months  and  would 
naturally  wait  longer  for  the  good-will  of  the  illus- 
trious orator. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  what  kept  Roumestan  at 
Arvillard  was  neither  the  necessity  for  rest  nor  the 
leisure  needed  by  that  marvellous  improvisator  — 
upon  whom  time  and  reflection  had  the  same  effect 
as  humidity  upon  phosphorus  —  but  the  presence 
of  Alice  Bachellery.  After  five  months  of  an  impas- 
sioned flirtation,  Numa  had  got  no  further  with  his 
little  one  than  he  was  on  the  day  of  their  first 
meeting.  He  haunted  the  house,  enjoyed  the 
savory  bouillabaisse  cooked  by  Mme.  Bachellery, 
listened  to  the  songs  of  the  former  director  of  the 
Folies  Bordelaises,  and  repaid  these  slight  favors 
with  a  flood  of  presents,  bouquets.  Ministerial 
theatre  boxes,  tickets  to  meetings  of  the  Institute 
and  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  even  with  the 
diploma  of  Officer  of  Academy  for  the  song-writer 
—  all  this  without  getting  his  love  affair  one  bit 
ahead. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  not  one  of  those  fresh  hands 
who  are  ready  to  go  fishing  at  every  hour  without 
having  tried  the  water  beforehand  and  thoroughly 
baited  it;  only  he  was  engaged  in  an  affair  with 
the  cleverest  kind  of  trout,  who  amused  herself 
with  his  precautions,  now  and  then  nibbled  at  the 


234  Numa  Roumestan. 

bait  and  sometimes  gave  him  the  impression  that 
she  was  caught ;  but  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  with 
one  of  her  bounds  she  would  skip  away,  leaving 
him  with  his  mouth  dry  with  longing  and  his  heart 
shaken  by  the  motions  of  her  undulating,  subtle 
and  tempting  spine. 

Nothing  was  more  enervating  than  this  little 
game.  Numa  could  have  caused  it  to  stop  at  any 
minute  by  giving  the  little  girl  what  she  demanded, 
namely,  a  nomination  as  prima  donna  at  the  opera, 
a  contract  for  five  years,  large  extras,  allowance 
for  fire,  the  right  to  have  her  name  displayed  —  all 
that  stipulated  on  paper  bearing  the  government 
stamp,  and  not  merely  by  a  simple  clasp  of  the 
hand,  or  by  Cadaillac's  "  Here  's  my  hand  on  it!  " 
She  believed  no  more  in  that  than  she  did  in  the 
expressions,  "  You  may  depend  upon  me  for  it"  — 
''  It 's  just  the  same  as  if  you  had  it "  —  phrases  with 
which  for  the  past  five  months  Roumestan  had 
been  trying  to  dupe  her. 

Roumestan  found  himself  between  two  pressing 
demands.  "Yes,"  said  Cadaillac,  "all  right  —  if 
you  will  renew  my  own  lease."  Now  Cadaillac  was 
used  up  and  done  with ;  his  presence  at  the  head 
of  the  first  musical  theatre  was  a  scandal,  a  blot,  a 
rotten  heritage  from  the  Imperial  administration. 
The  press  would  certainly  raise  an  outcry  against 
a  gambler  who  had  failed  three  times  and  was  not 
allowed  to  wear  his  officer's  cross,  against  a  cyn- 
ical poseur  who  dissipated  the  public  money  with- 
out any  shame. 

Finally,  wearied  out  with  not  being  able  to  allow 


A    Watering- Place,  235 

herself  to  be  captured,  Alice  broke  the  fish-line  and 
skipped  away,  carrying  the  fish-hook  with  her. 

One  day  the  Minister  arrived  at  the  Bachellery 
house  and  found  it  empty,  except  for  the  father, 
who,  in  order  to  console  him,  sang  his  last  popular 
refrain  for  his  benefit: 

'"'■  Donne-moi  (Vquoi  q'fas,  f  auras  cVquoi  qu*  faiT 
(Gimme  a  bite  o'  yourn,  my  boy,  I  '11  gi'  you  a  bite  o'  mine.) 

He  forced  himself  to  be  patient  for  a  month, 
and  then  went  to  see  the  fertile  song-writer  again, 
who  was  good  enough  to  sing  him  his  new  song 
beginning  — 

"  Quand  le  saucisson  va,  tout  va^"* 
(Sausage  gone,  all  is  gone,)  — 

and  let  him  know  that  the  ladies,  finding  them- 
selves delightfully  situated  at  the  baths,  had  an- 
nounced their  intention  to  double  the  term  of 
their  sojourn. 

Then  it  was  that  Roumestan  remembered  that 
he  was  expected  for  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone 
of  the  college  at  Chambery,  a  promise  he  had 
made  off-hand  and  which  probably  would  have  re- 
mained off-hand  if  Chambery  had  not  been  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Arvillard,  whither,  by  a  provi- 
dential piece  of  chance,  Jarras,  the  doctor  and 
friend  of  the  Minister,  had  just  sent  Mile.  Le 
Quesnoy. 

Immediately  upon  his  arrival  they  met  each 
other  in  the  garden  of  the  hotel.  She  was  tre- 
mendously surprised  to  see  him,  just  as  if  that 
very    morning    she    had    not   read   the   pompous 


236  Numa  Roumestan. 

announcement  of  his  coming  in  the  daily  gazette, 
just  as  if  for  eight  days  past,  through  the  thousand 
voices  of  its  forests,  its  fountains,  its  innumerable 
echoes,  the  whole  valley  had  not  been  announcing 
the  arrival  of  his  Excellency. 

*'What!  you  here?" 

Roumestan,  with  his  Ministerial  air,  imposing 
and  stiff: 

"  I  am  here  to  see  my  sister-in-law." 

Moreover  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  Miss 
Bachellery  was  still  at  Arvillard ;  he  had  thought 
her  gone  this  long  while. 

"  Well,  come  now,  I  have  got  to  take  care  of 
myself,  have  n't  I  ?  since  Cadaillac  pretends  that 
my  voice  is  so  sick !  " 

Then  she  gave  him  a  little  Parisian  nod  with 
the  ends  of  her  eyelashes  and  waltzed  off,  uttering 
a  clear  roulade,  a  delicious  undersong  like  the 
note  of  a  blackbird,  which  one  hears  long  after 
one  loses  the  bird  from  sight. 

Only  from  that  day  on  she  changed  her  manner. 
It  was  no  longer  the  precocious  child  forever 
bouncing  about  the  hotel,  roqueting  Master  Paul, 
playing  with  the  swing  and  other  innocent  games ; 
it  was  no  longer  the  girl  who  was  only  happy  with 
the  children,  disarmed  the  most  severe  mammas 
and  most  morose  ecclesiastics  by  the  ingenuous- 
ness of  her  laugh  and  her  promptness  at  the 
sacred  services.  In  place  of  that  appeared  Alice 
Bachellery,  the  diva  of  the  Bouffes,  the  pretty 
tomboy,  lively  in  manners  and  setting  the  pace, 
who    surrounded    herself    with    young    whipper- 


A    Watering-Place.  237 

snappers,  got  up  impromptu  festivities,  picnics 
and  suppers,  whose  doubtful  reputation  her  mother, 
who  was  always  present,  only  partly  succeeded  in 
making  respectable. 

Every  morning  a  basket-wagon  with  a  white 
canopy  bordered  with  fringed  curtains  drew  up  to 
the  front  door  an  hour  before  these  fine  ladies 
came  downstairs  in  their  light-toned  gowns.  Mean- 
while about  them  pranced  and  caracoled  a  jolly 
cavalcade  consisting  of  everybody  in  the  way  of 
a  free  and  unmarried  person  in  the  Alpes  Dau- 
phinoises  and  the  neighboring  hotels  —  the  Assist- 
ant Justice,  the  American  architect  and  more 
especially  the  young  man  on  springs,  whom  the 
young  diva  seemed  no  longer  to  be  driving  to 
despair  by  her  innocent  infantilities.  The  car- 
riage well-crammed  with  cloaks  against  their 
return,  a  big  basket  of  provisions  on  the  box, 
they  swept  through  the  country  at  a  sharp  rate 
on  the  road  for  the  Chartreuse  of  St.  Hugon. 
Three  hours  were  spent  on  the  mountain  along 
zigzag,  precipitous  roads  on  a  level  with  the 
black  tops  of  pines  that  scramble  down  precipices 
toward  torrents  all  white  with  foam ;  or  else  in 
the  direction  of  Brame-farine,  where  one  break- 
fasts on  mountain  cheese  washed  down  by  a  little 
claret  very  lively  in  its  nature,  which  makes  the 
Alps  dance  before  one's  eyes  —  Mont  Blanc  and 
all  that  marvellous  horizon  of  glaciers  and  blue 
peaks  which  one  discovers  up  there,  together  with 
little  lakes,  fragments  shining  at  the  foot  of  the 
crags  like  so  many  broken  pieces  of  sky. 


238  Numa  Roumestan, 

Then  they  came  down  ^^ a  la  ramasse,'  seated 
upon  sledges  of  branches  without  any  backs  to 
lean  against,  which  made  it  necessary  to  grasp 
the  branches  frantically,  launched  headlong  as 
they  were  down  the  declivities,  steered  by  a  moun- 
taineer who  goes  straight  ahead  over  the  velvet 
of  the  upland  pastures  and  the  pebbly  bed  of  dry 
torrents,  and  passing  with  the  same  swiftness  a 
section  of  rock  or  the  big  gap  of  a  river.  At  last 
it  lands  you  down  below  overwhelmed,  bruised 
and  suffocated,  your  whole  body  in  a  quiver  and 
your  eyes  rolling  with  the  sensation  of  having 
survived  a  most  horrible  earthquake. 

And  the  day's  trip  was  not  complete  unless  the 
entire  cavalcade  had  been  drenched  on  the  way 
by  one  of  those  mountain  storms,  bright  with  light- 
ning flashes  and  streaks  of  hail,  which  frighten  the 
horses,  make  the  landscape  dramatic  and  prepare 
a  sensational  return.  Little  Bachellery  would  be 
seated  on  the  box  in  some  man's  overcoat,  the 
tassel  of  her  cap  decorated  with  a  feather  of  the 
Pyrennean  partridge.  She  would  hold  the  reins, 
whip  the  horses  hard  in  order  to  warm  herself 
and,  when  once  landed  from  the  coach,  recount 
all  the  dangers  of  the  excursion  with  the  greatest 
vivacity,  a  high  sharp  voice  and  brilliant  eyes, 
showing  the  lively  reaction  of  her  youthful  body 
against  the  cold  downpour  —  all  with  a  little 
shudder  of  fear. 

It  would  have  been  well  if  then  at  least  she  had 
felt  the  need  of  a  good  sleep,  one  of  those  leaden 
slumbers  which  trips  in  the  mountains  produce. 


A   Watering- Place.  239 

Not  at  all;  till  early  morning,  in  the  rooms  of 
these  women,  there  were  goings  on  without  end 
—  laughter,  songs,  popping  bottles,  meals  brought 
up  at  improper  hours,  card-tables  pushed  around 
for  baccarat  —  and  all  this  over  the  head  of  the 
Minister,  whose  room  happened  to  be  just  under- 
neath. 

Several  times  he  complained  of  it  to  Mme. 
Laugeron,  who  was  very  much  torn  between  her 
desire  to  be  agreeable  to  his  Excellency  and  fear 
of  causing  clients  with  such  good  paying  qualities 
discontent.  And  besides,  has  any  one  the  right 
to  be  very  exacting  in  these  hotels  at  the  baths 
which  are  always  being  turned  upside  down  by 
departures  and  arrivals  in  the  midst  of  the  night, 
by  trunks  that  are  dragged  about,  by  big  boots 
and  iron-bound  Alpine  sticks  of  mountain  climbers, 
who  are  engaged  in  making  ready  for  the  ascent 
long  before  daybreak?  And  then,  besides,  the  fits 
of  coughing  of  the  sick  people,  those  horrible, 
incessant  coughs  which  seem  to  tear  people  in 
spasms,  appearing  to  combine  the  elements  of  a 
sob,  a  death  rattle  and  the  crowing  of  a  husky 
cock. 

These  giddy  nights,  heavy  July  nights,  which 
Roumestan  passed  turning  and  twisting  on  his 
bed,  filled  with  pressing  thoughts,  while  upstairs 
sounded  clear  in  the  night  the  laughter  of  his 
neighbors,  broken  by  single  notes  and  snatches  of 
song  —  these  nights  he  might  have  employed  writ- 
ing his  speech  for  Chambery;  but  he  was  too 
much  agitated  and  too  angry.     He  had  to  control 


240  Numa  Roumestan, 

himself  not  to  run  upstairs  to  the  next  floor  and 
drive  off  at  the  tips  of  his  boots  the  young  man 
on  springs,  the  American  and  that  shameless 
Assistant  Justice,  that  dishonor  to  French  juris- 
prudence in  the  colonies,  so  as  to  be  able  to  seize 
that  naughty  little  scoundrel  by  the  neck,  by  her 
turtle-dove's  neck  puffed  out  with  roulades,  and  at 
the  same  time  say  to  her  just  once  for  all : 

*'  Is  n't  it  about  time  that  you  ceased  making 
me  suffer  in  this  way?" 

In  order  to  quiet  himself  and  drive  off  these 
dreams  and  other  visions  even  more  vivid  and 
painful  he  lit  his  candle  again,  called  to  Bom- 
pard,  asleep  in  the  adjoining  room  —  his  comrade, 
his  echo,  always  ready  at  command  —  and  then 
the  two  would  talk  about  the  girl.  It  was  for  that 
very  purpose  he  had  brought  him  along,  having 
torn  him  away  with  no  little  trouble  from  the  busi- 
ness of  establishing  his  artificial  hatcher.  Bom- 
pard  consoled  himself  by  talking  of  his  venture 
to  Father  Olivieri,  who  was  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  raising  of  ostriches,  having  lived  at  Cape 
Town  a  long  while.  The  tales  told  by  the  priest 
interested  the  imaginative  Bompard  very  much 
more  than  Numa's  affair  with  little  Bachellery 
—  the  Father's  voyages,  his  martyrdorh,  the  differ- 
ent ways  in  which  the  robust  body  of  the  man 
had  been  tortured  in  different  countries  —  that 
buccaneer's  body  burnt  and  sawed  and  stretched 
on  the  wheel,  a  sort  of  sample  card  of  refinements 
in  human  cruelty  —  and  all  that  along  with  the 
cool  fan  of  silky  and  tickly  ostrich  plumes  dreamt 


A   Watering-Place,  241 

of  by  the  promoter.  But  Bompard  was  so  well 
trained  to  his  business  of  shadow  that  even  at  that 
time  of  night  Numa  found  him  ready  to  warm  up 
and  be  indignant  in  sympathy  with  him  and  to 
express,  with  his  magnificent  head  under  the  silken 
ends  of  a  night  scarf,  the  emotions  of  anger,  irony 
or  sorrow,  according  as  the  talk  fell  upon  the  false 
eyelashes  of  the  artificial  little  girl,  on  her  sixteen 
years,  which  certainly  were  equal  to  twenty-four, 
or  on  the  immorality  of  a  mother  who  could  take 
part  in  such  scandalous  orgies.  Finally,  when 
Roumestan,  having  declaimed  and  gesticulated 
well  and  laid  bare  the  weakness  of  his  amorous 
heart,  put  out  his  candle,  saying  "  Let 's  try  to 
sleep,  come  on,"  then  Bompard  would  use  the 
advantage  of  the  darkness  to  say  to  him  before 
going  to  bed  : 

"  Well,  in  your  place,  I  know  well  enough  what 
I  would  do." 

"What?" 

*'  I  would  renew  the  contract  with  Cadaillac." 

"  Never !  " 

And  then  he  would  plunge  violently  under  the 
bed-clothes  in  order  to  protect  himself  from  the 
rowdy-dow  overhead. 

One  afternoon  at  the  time  for  music,  that  hour 
during  life  at  the  baths  which  is  given  over  to 
coquetry  and  gossip,  whilst  all  the  bathers,  crowded 
in  front  of  the  establishment  as  if  on  the  poop  of 
a  ship,  came  and  went,  slowly  circled  about,  or 
took  their  seats  on  the  camp-chairs  arranged  in 
three  rows,  the  Minister  had  darted  into  an  empty 

16 


242  Numa  Roumestan, 

alley  in  order  to  avoid  Mile.  Bachellery,  whom  he 
saw  coming  clad  in  a  stunning  toilet  of  blue  and 
red,  escorted  by  her  staff.  There,  all  alone,  seated 
in  the  corner  of  a  bench  and  with  his  pre-occupa- 
tion  strong  upon  him',  infected  by  the  melancholy 
of  the  hour  and  that  distant  music,  he  was  mechan- 
ically stirring  about  with  his  umbrella  the  spots  of 
fire  with  which  the  alley  was  strewn  by  the  setting 
sun,  when  a  slow  shade  passing  across  his  sunlight 
made  him  raise  his  eyes.  It  was  Bouchereau,  the 
celebrated  doctor,  very  pale  and  puffy,  dragging 
his  feet  after  him.  They  knew  each  other  in  the 
way  that  all  Parisians  at  a  certain  height  of  society 
know  each  other.  It  chanced  that  Bouchereau, 
who  had  not  been  out  for  several  days,  felt  in 
a  sociable  frame  of  mind;  he  took  a  seat;  they 
fell  to  talking :  **  Is  it  true  that  you  are  ill. 
Doctor?" 

"  Very  ill,"  said  the  other  with  his  manner  of 
a  wild  boar,  "a  hereditary  disease — a  hypertro- 
phy of  the  heart.  My  mother  died  of  it  and  my 
sisters  also.  Only,  I  shall  last  less  long  than  they, 
because  of  my  horrible  business ;  I  have  about  a 
year  to  live  —  or  two  years  at  the  most." 

There  was  nothing  except  useless  phrases  with 
which  to  answer  this  great  scientist,  this  infallible 
diagnoser  who  was  talking  of  his  death  with  such 
quiet  assurance.  Roumestan  understood  it,  as  in 
silence  he  pondered  that  there  indeed  were  sor- 
rows a  good  deal  more  serious  than  his  own. 
Bouchereau  went  on  without  looking  at  him,  hav- 
ing that  vague  eye  and  that  relentless  sequence  of 


A   Watering- Place,  243 

ideas  which  the  habit  of  the  professorial  chair  and 
his  lectures  give  to  a  professor : 

"  We  physicians,  you  see,  are  supposed  not  to 
feel  anything  because  we  have  such  an  air  with 
us.  They  think  that  in  the  sick  person  we  are  tak- 
ing care  of  the  sickness  only,  never  the  being,  the 
human  creature  suffering  pain.  What  an  error! 
I  have  seen  my  master  Dupuytren,  who  was  sup- 
posed to  be  a  pretty  tough  chicken,  weeping  hot 
tears  before  a  poor  little  sufferer  from  diphtheria 
who  told  him  very  quietly  that  it  was  an  awful  bore 
to  die  .  .  ,  and  then  those  heart-breaking  appeals 
from  anguished  mothers,  those  passionate  hands 
which  clasp  your  arm :  *  My  child,  save  my  child  !  * 
.  .  .  and  then  the  fathers  who  stiffen  themselves  up 
and  say  to  you  in  a  very  masculine  voice,  but  with 
great  big  tears  running  down  their  cheeks :  '  You 
will  pull  him  through,  won't  you,  Doctor?'  It 
is  all  very  well  to  harden  oneself,  but  such  despairs 
break  your  heart,  and  that  is  a  nice  thing,  is  n't 
it,  when  one's  own  heart  is  already  attacked? 
Forty  years  of  practice  and  every  day  becoming 
more  nervous  and  sensitive  —  it  is  my  patients 
who  have  killed  me !  I  am  dying  from  the  suffer- 
ings of  other  people  !  " 

''But  I  thought  you  did  not  accept  patients  any 
more.  Doctor,"  said  the  Minister,  who  was  deeply 
moved. 

"Oh,  no;  never  any  more,  for  nobody's  sake! 
I  might  see  a  man  fall  dead  to  the  ground  there 
in  front  of  me  and  I  would  n't  even  bend  down. 
You  understand?  It  is  enough  to  turn  one's  blood 


244  Numa  Roumestan, 

at  last,  this  sickness  of  mine,  which  I  have  in- 
creased by  all  the  sicknesses  of  others !  Why,  I 
want  to  live;   there  is  nothing  else  but  life !  " 

With  all  his  pallor  he  excited  himself  and  his 
nostrils,  pinched  with  a  look  of  morbidness,  drank 
in  the  light  air  filled  with  lukewarm  aromas, 
vibrating  musical  instruments  and  cries  of  birds. 
He  continued  with  a  heart-broken  sigh : 

"  I  do  not  practise  any  more,  but  I  always 
remain  the  doctor.  I  preserve  that  fatal  gift  of 
diagnosis,  that  horrible  second  sight  for  the  latent 
symptom,  for  suffering  which  the  sufferer  hopes 
to  conceal,  and  which  at  a  mere  glance  at  the 
passer-by  I  perceive  in  the  person  who  walks  and 
talks  and  acts  in  the  full  force  of  his  being,  show- 
ing me  the  man  about  to  die  to-morrow,  the 
motionless  corpse.  And  all  that  just  as  clearly 
as  I  see  it  advancing  towards  me,  the  fit  which  is 
going  to  do  for  me,  that  last  fainting-fit  from  which 
nothing  can  ever  bring  me  back." 

"  It  is  frightful !  "  murmured  Numa,  who  felt  him- 
self turning  pale.  A  poltroon  in  the  face  of  sick- 
ness and  death,  like  all  Provencal  people,  those 
people  so  crazy  to  live,  he  turned  his  face  away 
from  the  redoubtable  scientist  and  did  not  dare 
look  him  in  the  face  for  fear  he  might  read  on 
his  own  rubicund  features  the  warning  signs  of 
his,  Numa's,  approaching  end. 

'*  Oh !  this  terrible  skill  at  diagnosis,  which  they 
all  envy  me,  how  sad  it  makes  me,  how  it  ruins  the 
little  remnant  of  life  which  remains  to  me !  Why, 
look  here :   I  know  a  luckless  woman  here  whose 


A    Watering- P lace.  245 

son  died  of  laryngeal  consumption  ten  or  twelve 
years  ago.  I  had  seen  him  twice  and  I  alone 
among  all  the  physicians  gave  warning  of  the 
seriousness  of  the  malady.  Well,  to-day  I  come 
across  that  same  mother  with  her  young  daughter; 
and  I  may  say  that  the  presence  of  those  un- 
fortunate ones  destroys  the  good  of  my  sojourn 
at  the  baths  and  does  me  more  harm  than  my 
treatment  will  ever  do  me  good.  They  pursue 
me,  they  wish  to  consult  me,  and  as  for  me  I 
absolutely  refuse  to  do  it.  No  good  of  ausculta- 
ting that  child  in  order  to  read  her  condemnation  ! 
It  was  enough  the  other  day  to  have  seen  her 
voracity  while  seizing  a  bowl  of  raspberries,  and 
during  the  inhalation  to  have  seen  her  hand  lying 
on  her  knees,  a  thin  hand,  the  nails  of  which  are 
puffed  up  and  rise  above  the  fingers  as  if  they 
were  ready  to  detach  themselves.  That  girl  has 
the  consumption  her  brother  had ;  she  will  die 
before  the  year  is  out.  But  let  other  people  tell 
them  that ;  I  have  given  enough  of  those  dagger- 
stabs  which  have  turned  again  to  stab  me.  I  want 
no  more." 

Roumestan  had  got  up,  very  much  frightened. 

"  Do  you  know  the  name  of  those  ladies, 
Doctor?" 

"  No ;  they  sent  me  their  card  and  I  would  not 
even  see  them.  I  only  know  that  they  are  at  our 
hotel." 

And  all  of  a  sudden,  looking  down  the  alley, 
he  cried : 

"  By  George,  there  they  are  !  —  I  am  off — " 


246  Numa  Roumestan, 

Away  down  there  at  the  end  of  the  alley,  on  the 
little  gravelled  circle  whence  the  band  was  sending 
its  last  note,  there  was  a  movement  of  umbrellas 
and  light-colored  gowns  among  the  foliage,  just 
as  the  first  strokes  of  the  dinner  bells  were  heard 
from  the  hotels.  The  ladies  Le  Quesnoy  de- 
tached themselves  from  a  group  of  lively,  chatting 
people,  Hortense  tall  and  slender  in  the  sunlight, 
in  a  toilet  of  muslin  and  Valenciennes,  a  hat 
trimmed  with  roses  and  in  her  hand  a  bouquet  of 
the  same  kind  of  rose  bought  in  the  park. 

"With  whom  were  you  talking  just  now,  Numa? 
We  thought  it  was  Dr.  Bouchereau." 

There  she  was  before  him,  dazzling  in  her  youth 
and  so  brilliant,  on  that  happy  day,  that  her 
mother  herself  began  to  lose  her  fears  and  allowed 
a  little  of  that  infectious  gayety  to  be  reflected  on 
her  ancient  face. 

"  Yes,  it  was  Bouchereau,  who  was  recounting 
to  me  his  miseries ;   he's  pretty  low,  poor  fellow !  " 

And  Numa,  looking  at  her,  reassured  himself. 

"  The  man  is  crazy;  it  is  not  possible;  it's  his 
own  death  he  is  dragging  about  with  him  and 
prognosticates  everywhere." 

At  that  moment  Bompard  appeared,  walking 
very  quickly  and  brandishing  a  newspaper. 

"What  is  up?  "  asked  the  Minister. 

"  Great  news  !  The  tabor-player  has  made  his 
d6but  — " 

They  heard  Hortense  murmur :  "  At  last !  "  and 
Numa  was  radiant. 

"  Success,  was  it  not?  " 


A    Watering- Place,  247 

"Do  you  think  so?  I  have  not  read  the 
article ;  but  here  are  three  columns  on  the  front 
sheet  of  the  Messenger  !  " 

"  There  's  one  more  whom  I  discovered  !  "  said 
the  Minister,  who  had  seated  himself  again  with 
his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  waist-coat. 
"  Come  on,  read  it  to  us." 

Mme.  Le  Quesnoy  having  called  attention  to 
the  fact  that  the  dinner-bell  had  sounded,  Hor- 
tense  hastily  answered  that  it  was  only  the  first 
bell,  and,  her  cheek  resting  on  her  hand,  she 
listened  in  a  pretty  attitude  of  smiling  expectancy. 
Bompard  read: 

"  Is  it  due  to  the  Minister  of  the  Fine  Arts  or 
to  the  Director  of  the  Opera  that  the  Parisian 
public  suffered  such  a  grotesque  mystification  as 
that  with  which  it  was  victimized  last  night?  —  " 

They  all  started,  with  the  exception  of  Bompard, 
who,  under  the  impetus  of  his  gait  as  a  fine  reader, 
lulled  by  the  sonorous  sound  of  his  own  voice  and 
without  taking  in  what  he  was  reading,  looked  from 
one  to  the  other,  surprised  at  their  astonishment. 

"  Well,"  said  Numa,  *'  go  on,  go  on !  " 

**  In  any  case,  it  is  the  Honorable  Roumestan 
who  must  shoulder  the  responsibility.  He  it  is 
who  has  lugged  up  from  his  province  this  savage 
and  odd-looking  piper,  this  goat-whistler — " 

"Well,  there  certainly  are  some  people  who  are 
very  mean,"  interrupted  the  young  girl,  who  had 
turned  quite  pale  under  her  roses.  The  reader 
continued,  with  eyes  staring  in  horror  at  the  dread- 
ful things  he  saw  coming: 


24S  Ntima  Roumestan, 

** — this  goat  whistler;  to  him  is  due  that  our 
Academy  of  Music  appeared  for  the  space  of  an 
evening  Hke  the  return  from  the  fair  at  Saint 
Cloud.  In  truth  it  would  take  a  very  crack  fifer 
indeed  to  believe  that  Paris  — " 

The  Minister  rudely  dragged  the  newspaper 
from  his  hand. 

*'  I  hope  you  don't  intend  to  read  us  that  idiocy 
to  the  bitter  end,  do  you?  it  is  quite  enough  to 
have  brought  it  to  us  at  all." 

He  ran  down  the  article  with  his  eye,  with  one 
of  those  quick  glances  of  the  public  man  who  is 
used  to  reading  the  invectives  of  the  daily  press. 
''A  provincial  Minister  —  a  pretty  clog-dancer  — 
Valmajour's  own  Roumestan  —  hissed  the  Minis- 
try and  smashed  his  tabor  —  " 

He  had  enough  of  it,  thrust  the  virulent  paper 
down  into  the  bottom  of  his  pocket,  then  rose, 
puffing  with  the  rage  that  swelled  his  face,  and 
taking  Mme.  Le  Quesnoy  by  the  arm : 

"  Come,  let 's  go  to  dinner.  Mamma —  this  should 
teach  me  not  to  fret  myself  for  the  sake  of  a  parcel 
of  nobodies." 

All  four  marched  along  together,  Hortense  with 
her  eyes  upon  the  ground  in  a  state  of  conster- 
nation. 

"  This  is  a  matter  concerning  an  artist  of  great 
talent,"  said  she,  trying  to  strengthen  her  voice,  a 
little  veiled  in  its  tone.  "  One  ought  not  to  hold 
him  responsible  for  the  injustice  done  him  by  the 
public  nor  for  the  irony  of  the  newspapers." 

Roumestan  came  to  a  dead  stop. 


A    Watering- Place,  249 

**Talent — talent! — be\  yes — I  don't  deny  that 
—  but  much  too  exotic  — "  and,  raising  his 
umbrella : 

"Let  us  beware  of  the  South,  little  sister,  let's 
beware  of  the  South  —  don't  work  it  too  hard  — 
Paris  will  grow  weary." 

And  he  resumed  his  walk  with  measured  steps, 
quiet  and  cool  as  if  he  were  a  citizen  of  Copen- 
hagen. The  silence  was  unbroken  save  for  the 
crackling  of  the  gravel  under  his  feet,  which  in 
certain  circumstances  seems  to  indicate  the  crush- 
ing or  crumbhng  effect  of  a  fit  of  rage  or  of  a 
dream. 

When  they  reached  the  front  of  the  hotel,  from 
the  ten  windows  of  whose  enormous  dining-room 
there  came  the  noise  of  hungry  spoons  clattering 
on  bottoms  of  plates,  Hortense  stopped,  and,  rais- 
ing her  head : 

**  So  then,  this  poor  boy  —  you're  going  to 
abandon  him  ?  " 

"What  is  to  be  done?  — there  is  no  use  fighting 
against  it — since  Paris  doesn't  care  for  him." 

She  gave  him  an  indignant  glance  which  was 
almost  one  of  disdain. 

"Oh,  it  is  horrible,  what  you  are  saying;  well, 
as  for  me,  I  am  prouder  than  you  are ;  I  am  true 
to  my  enthusiasms  !  " 

She  crossed  the  porch  of  the  hotel  with  two 
skips. 

"  Hortense,  the  second  bell  has  sounded  !  " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know —  I  am  coming  down." 

She  ran  up  to  her  room  and  locked  the  door  in 


250  Numa  Roumestan. 

order  not  to  be  interfered  with.  Opening  her 
desk,  one  of  those  natty  trifles  by  the  aid  of  which 
a  Parisian  woman  can  make  personal  to  herself  even 
the  chamber  of  an  inn,  she  pulled  out  one  of  the 
photographs  of  herself  which  she  had  had  taken 
in  the  head-dress  and  scarf  of  an  Aries  woman, 
wrote  a  line  underneath  it  and  affixed  her  name. 
Whilst  she  was  putting  on  the  address  the  bell  in 
the  tower  of  Arvillard  sounded  the  hour  across  the 
sombre  violet  that  filled  the  valley,  as  if  to  give 
solemnity  to  what  she  had  dared  to  do.  • 

"  Six  o'clock." 

From  the  torrent  the  mist  was  rising  in  wander- 
ing and  flaky  masses  of  white.  In  the  amphi- 
theatre of  forests  and  mountains  and  the  silver 
plume  of  the  glacier,  in  the  rose-colored  evening, 
she  took  note  of  the  smallest  details  of  that  silent 
and  reposeful  moment,  just  as  on  the  calendar  one 
marks  some  single  date  among  all  others  ;  just  as 
in  a  book  one  underscores  a  passage  which  has 
caused   one   emotion;    dreaming  aloud   she  said: 

"  It  is  my  life,  my  entire  life  I  am  risking  at 
this  moment." 

She  took  as  witness  the  solemnity  of  the  even- 
ing, the  majesty  of  nature,  the  tremendous  repose 
of  everything  about  her. 

Her  entire  life  that  she  was  engaging?  Poor 
little  girl !  if  she  had  only  known  how  little  that 
was ! 

A  few  days  after  this  the  Le  Quesnoy  ladies  left 
the    hotel,    Hortense's    treatment   having   ended. 


A    Watering-Place,  251 

Although  reassured  by  the  healthy  look  of  her 
child  and  by  what  the  little  doctor  said  concern- 
ing the  miracle  performed  by  the  nymph  of  the 
waters,  her  mother  was  only  too  glad  to  have 
done  with  that  life,  which  in  its  smallest  details 
recalled  to  her  a  past  martyrdom. 

"And  how  about  you,  Numa?" 

O,  as  for  him,  he  intended  to  stay  a  week  or 
two  longer,  finish  a  bit  of  medical  treatment  and 
take  advantage  of  the  quiet  which  their  departure 
would  afford  him  in  order  to  write  that  famous 
speech.  It  would  make  a  tremendous  row,  the 
news  of  which  they  would  get  at  Paris.  By  George  ! 
Le  Quesnoy  would  not  like  it  much ! 

Then  all  of  a  sudden,  Hortense,  though  ready  to 
leave,  and  notwithstanding  she  was  happy  at  return- 
ing home  to  see  the  beloved  absent  ones  whom 
distance  made  even  more  dear  to  her  —  for  her 
imagination  reached  even  to  her  heart  —  Hortense 
suddenly  felt  sorrow  at  leaving  this  beautiful  coun- 
try and  all  the  hotel  society  and  her  friends  of 
three  weeks,  to  whom  she  had  no  idea  she  had 
become  so  much  attached.  Ah,  ye  loving  natures  ! 
how  you  give  yourselves  out!  how  everything 
grasps  you  and  then  what  pain  ensues  when 
breaking  these  invisible  yet  sensitive  threads ! 

People  had  been  so  kind  to  her,  so  full  of  atten- 
tion ;  and  at  the  last  hour  so  many  outstretched 
hands  pressed  about  the  carriage,  so  many  ten- 
der expressions!  Young  girls  would  kiss  her: 
"  We  shall  have  no  more  fun  without  you."  Then 
they  promised   to  write   to  each   other   and   ex- 


252  Numa  Roumestait, 

changed  mementos,  sweet-smelling  boxes  and 
paper-cutters  made  of  mother-of-pearl  with  this 
inscription  in  a  shimmering  blue  like  the  lakes  : 
^'Arvillard,  1876."  And  while  M.  Laugeron 
slipped  a  bottle  of  superfine  Chartreuse  into  her 
traveUing-sack,  she  saw,  up  there  behind  the  pane 
of  her  chamber  window,  the  mountaineer's  wife 
who  had  been  her  servant  dabbing  her  eyes  with 
an  enormous  handkerchief  of  the  color  of  wine- 
lees  and  heard  a  husky  voice  murmur  in  her  ear: 
'*  Plenty  of  spring,  my  dear  young  lady,  always 
plenty  of  spring !  "  It  was  her  friend  the  con- 
sumptive, who,  having  jumped  up  on  the  wheel, 
poured  out  upon  her  a  look  of  good-bye  from  two 
haggard  and  feverish  eyes,  but  eyes  sparkling  with 
energy,  will  and  a  bit  of  emotion  besides.  O, 
what  kind  people !  what  kind  people !   .  .  . 

Hortense  could  not  speak  for  fear  of  crying. 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye,  all !  " 

The  Minister  accompanied  the  ladies  as  far  as 
the  distant  railway  station  and  took  his  seat  in 
front  of  them.  Crack  goes  the  whip,  jingle  go  the 
bells  !     All  of  a  sudden  Hortense  cries  out: 

"  Oh,  my  umbrella !  "  She  had  had  it  in  her 
hand  not  a  moment  before.  Twenty  people  rush 
off  to  find  it:  "The  umbrella,  the  umbrella"  — 
not  in  the  bedroom,  not  in  the  drawing-room; 
doors  slam;  the  hotel  is  searched  from  top  to 
bottom. 

"  Don't  look  for  it ;   I  know  where  it  is." 

Always  lively,  the  young  girl  jumps  out  of  the 
carriage  and  runs  to  the  garden,  toward  the  grove 


A    Watering-Place,  253 

of  walnuts,  where  even  that  morning  she  had  been 
adding  several  chapters  to  the  romance  that  was 
being  written  in  her  crazy  little  head.  There  lay 
the  umbrella,  thrown  across  the  bench,  a  bit  of 
herself  left  in  that  favorite  spot,  something  which 
was  very  like  her.  What  delicious  hours  had 
been  passed  in  this  nook  of  rich  verdure !  what 
confidences  had  gone  off  on  the  wings  of  the  bees 
and  butterflies !  Without  a  doubt  she  would 
never  return  thither  again.  This  thought  caused 
her  heart  to  contract  and  kept  her  there.  At 
that  moment  she  found  everything  charming,  even 
the  long  grinding  sound  of  the  swing. 

"  Get  out !  you  make  me  weary  —  " 

It  was  the  voice  of  Mile.  Bachellery  who  was 
furious  at  being  left  because  of  this  departure 
and,  believing  herself  alone  with  her  mother,  was 
talking  to  her  in  her  habitual  tongue.  Hortense 
thought  of  the  filial  flatteries  which  had  so  often 
jarred  upon  her  nerves  and  laughed  to  herself 
while  returning  to  the  carriage.  Then,  at  the 
turn  of  an  alley,  she  found  herself  face  to  face 
with  Bouchereau.  She  stepped  aside,  but  he  laid 
hold  of  her  arm. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  leave  us,  my  child?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  sir." 

She  hardly  knew  what  to  answer,  startled  by 
this  meeting  and  surprised  because  it  was  the  first 
time  that  he  had  ever  spoken  to  her.  Then  he 
took  her  two  hands  in  his  own  and  held  her  that 
way  in  front  of  him,  his  arms  wide  apart,  and  gazed 
upon   her  fixedly  from  his  piercing   eyes   under 


254  Numa  Roumesta^t, 

their  brushy  white  brows.  Then  his  lips  and 
hands,  his  whole  body  trembled,  while  a  rush  of 
blood  colored  deeply  his  pallid  face. 

"  Well,  then,  good-bye,  happy  journey  !  "  And 
without  another  word  he  drew  her  to  him  and 
pressed  her  to  his  breast  with  the  tenderness  of 
a  grandfather  and  then  hastened  away  with  both 
hands  pressed  against  his  heart,  which  seemed 
about  to  break. 


The  Speech  at  Chambery.  255 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE    SPEECH  AT   CHAMBERY. 

"  Non^  non,  je  me  fats  hironde — e — elle 
Etje  trCenvo — o — le  d  tire  d^ai — le —  " 

The  little  Bachellery  girl,  clad  in  a  fantastic  cloak 
with  a  blue  silk  capuchon,  to  go  with  a  little  toque 
wound  round  with  a  great  big  veil,  sang  before  her 
glass  while  finishing  the  buttoning  of  her  gloves ; 
her  clear,  sharp  voice  had  risen  that  morning  in 
full  limpidity  and  in  the  best  of  humors.  Spick 
and  span  for  the  excursion,  the  gay  little  body  of 
her  had  a  pleasant  fragrance  of  fresh  toilet  and 
new  gown,  very  neat  and  trig  in  contrast  with  the 
sloppy  state  of  the  hotel  bedroom,  where  the  re- 
mainder of  a  late  supper  was  to  be  seen  on  the 
table,  higgledy-piggledy  with  poker  chips,  cards 
and  candles — all  this  close  to  the  tumbled  bed 
and  a  big  bath-tub  full  of  that  gleaming  "  little 
milk"  of  Arvillard,  so  fine  for  calming  the  nerves 
and  making  the  skin  of  the  ladies  bathing  there 
as  smooth  as  satin.  Downstairs  the  basket-wagon 
was  waiting,  the  horses  shaking  their  bells  and  a 
full  escort  of  youths  caracoling  in  front  of  the 
porch. 


256  Numa  Roumestan, 

Just  as  the  toilet  was  finished  a  knock  came  at 
the  door. 

"  Come  in  !  " 

Roumestan  came  In,  much  excited,  and  held  out 
to  her  a  large  envelope  : 

"  There,  Mile  —  O  !   read  —  read  —  " 

It  was  her  engagement  at  the  opera  for  five 
years,  with  all  the  appointments  she  had  wished, 
with  the  right  of  having  her  name  printed  big,  and 
everything.  When  she  had  read  it,  article  by  arti- 
cle, coldly  and  with  perfect  poise,  down  to  the 
great  coarse  signature  of  Cadaillac,  then  and  only 
then  she  took  one  step  towards  the  Minister,  and, 
raising  her  veil,  which  was  drawn  closely  about  her 
face  to  keep  out  the  dust  on  the  trip,  standing  very 
close  to  him,  her  rosy  beak  in  the  air: 

"  You  are  very  good  —  I  love  you  —  " 

Nothing  more  than  that  was  needed  to  make  the 
man  of  the  public  forget  all  the  embarrassments 
which  this  engagement  was  going  to  cause  him. 
He  restrained  himself,  however,  and  remained  stiff, 
cold  and  frowning  like  a  crag. 

"  Now,  I  have  kept  my  promise  and  I  with- 
draw—  I  do  not  care  to  disarrange  your  picnic 
party  —  " 

"  My  picnic?  Oh,  yes,  that 's  so  —  we  're  going 
to  Chateau  Bayard." 

And  then,  casting  both  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
she  said  in  a  wheedling  voice : 

"  You  've  got  to  come  with  us ;  yes  —  O,  yes,  I 
tell  you." 

She  brushed  her  long  pencilled  eyelashes  across 


The  Speech  at  Chambery,  257 

his  cheek  and  even  nibbled  a  little  at  his  statuesque 
chin,  but  not  very  hard,  with  the  ends  of  her  little 
teeth. 

"What!  with  those  young  people?  Why,  it  is 
impossible.     You  cannot  dream  of  it?" 

"Those  young  people?  Much  do  I  care  for 
those  young  people!  I  will  just  let  them  rip  — 
Mamma  will  let  them  know  —  oh,  they  are  used 
to  it! — You  hear,  Mamma?" 

"  I  'm  going,"  said  Mme.  Bachellery,  whom  one 
could  see  in  the  next  chamber  with  her  foot  on 
a  chair,  trying  to  force  over  her  red  stockings 
a  pair  of  cloth  gaiters  much  too  small  for  her. 
She  made  the  Minister  one  of  her  famous  courte- 
sies from  the  Folies  Bordelaises  and  hurried  down- 
stairs to  send  the  young  gentlemen  flying. 

"  Keep  a  horse  for  Bompard ;  he  will  come  with 
us,"  cried  the  little  girl  after  her;  and  Numa, 
touched  by  this  attention,  enjoyed  the  delicious 
pleasure  of  holding  this  pretty  girl  in  his  arms  and 
hearing  all  that  impertinent  gang  of  young  people 
walk  off  at  a  funeral  pace  with  their  ears  drooping. 
Many  a  time  had  their  jumpings  and  skippings 
caused  his  heart  a  lively  time.  One  kiss  applied 
for  a  long  moment  on  a  smile  which  promised 
everything  —  then  she  disengaged  herself. 

"  Hurry  up  and  dress  yourself;  I  'm  in  haste  to 
be  on  the  way." 

What  a  buzz  of  curiosity  through  the  hotel,  what 
a  movement  behind  the  green  blinds,  when  it  was 
known  that  the  Minister  had  joined  the  picnic  at 
Chateau  Bayard  and  that  his  big  white  waistcoat 

17 


2^8  Numa  Roumestan. 

and  the  Panama  hat  shading  his  Roman  face  were 
seen  displayed  in  the  basket-wagon  in  front  of  the 
Httle  singer !  After  all,  just  as  Father  Olivieri  who 
had  learned  a  lot  during  his  voyages  remarked, 
what  harm  was  there  In  It,  anyhow?  Did  n't  her 
mother  accompany  them,  and  Chateau  Bayard,  a 
historical  monument,  did  It  or  did  It  not  belong  to 
the  public  buildings  under  Ministerial  control? 
So  let  us  not  be  so  intolerant,  great  Heavens ! 
especially  In  regard  to  men  who  give  up  their 
entire  life  to  the  defence  of  the  right  doctrines  and 
our  holy  religion ! 

''Bompard  Is  not  coming — what's  the  matter 
with  him?"  murmured  Roumestan,  Impatient  at 
having  to  wait  there  before  the  hotel  exposed  to 
all  those  plunging  glances  which  volleyed  upon 
him  notwithstanding  the  canopy  of  the  carnage. 
At  a  window  In  the  first  story  an  extraordinary 
something  appeared,  a  something  white  and  round 
and  exotic,  which  spake  in  the  voice  of  the  former 
chieftain  of  Circassians,  "  Go  on  ahead,  I  '11  rejine 
you !  " 

Just  as  if  they  had  only  been  waiting  for  the 
word,  the  two  mules,  low  In  shoulder  but  soHd  in 
hoof,  got  away  shaking  their  travelling-bells, 
crossed  the  park  in  three  jumps  and  whirled 
past  the  bathing  establishment. 

"  Ware  !  ware  !  " 

The  frightened  bathers  and  sedan-chairs  hurried 
to  one  side;  the  bathing-maids,  the  big  pockets  of 
their  aprons  full  of  money  and  colored  tickets, 
appeared   at  the  entrance   of  the    galleries ;    the 


The  Speech  at  Chambery,  259 

massage  men,  as  naked  as  Bedoweens  under  their 
woollen  blankets,  showed  themselves  up  to  the  waist 
on  the  stairway  of  the  furnaces ;  the  blue  shades  of 
the  inhalation  halls  were  thrust  aside ;  everybody 
wished  to  see  the  Minister  and  the  diva  pass. 

But  already  they  are  far  away,  whirled  at  rail- 
way speed  through  the  intersecting  labyrinth  of 
Arvillard's  little  black  streets,  over  the  sharp  cobble- 
stones, close  together  and  veined  with  sulphur  and 
fire,  out  of  which  the  carriage  strikes  sparks  as  it 
bounds  along,  shaking  the  low  walls  of  the  lep- 
rous-colored houses  and  causing  heads  to  appear  at 
the  windows  decked  with  placards.  At  the  thresh- 
olds of  the  shops  where  they  sell  iron-pointed 
canes,  parasols,  climbing-irons,  chalk  stones,  min- 
erals, crystals  and  other  catch-penny  things  for 
bathers  appear  heads  which  bow  and  brows  that 
uncover  at  the  sight  of  the  Minister.  The  very 
people  affected  with  goitre  recognize  him  and 
salute  with  their  foolish  and  raucous  cries  the 
grand  master  of  the  University  of  France,  while 
the  good  ladies  seated  with  him  proudly  draw 
themselves  up  stiff  and  most  worshipful  oppo- 
site, feeling  well  the  honor  which  is  being  done 
them.  They  only  lounge  at  their  ease  when  they 
are  quite  clear  of  the  village  lands,  on  the  fine 
turnpike  toward  Pontcharra,  where  the  mules  stop 
to  blow  at  the  foot  of  the  tower  of  Le  Truil,  which 
Bompard  had  fixed  upon  as  a  trysting-place. 

The  minutes  pass,  but  no  Bompard !  They 
know  he  is  a  good  horseman  because  he  has  so 
often  boasted  of  it ;   they  are  astonished  and  irri- 


26o  Numa  Roumestan, 

tated  —  particularly  Numa  —  who  is  impatient  to 
get  on  down  that  even  white  road  which  seems 
absolutely  without  an  end,  and  get  farther  into 
that  day  which  seems  to  open  up  like  a  life  full  of 
hopes  and  adventures.  Finally,  from  a  cloud  of 
dust  out  of  which  rises  a  frightened  voice  that 
pants  out  Ho!  la!  Ho!  la!  emerges  the  head 
of  Bompard,  covered  by  one  of  those  pith  helmets 
spread  with  white  cloth,  having  a  vague  look  of  a 
life-boat,  like  those  used  by  the  British  army  in 
India,  which  the  Provencal  had  brought  along 
with  the  intention  of  dramatizing  and  making  im- 
posing his  trip  to  the  baths,  having  allowed  his 
hatter  to  believe  that  he  was  off  for  Bombay  or 
Calcutta. 

''  Come  on,  my  dear  boy !  " 

Bompard  tosses  his  head  with  a  tragical  air. 
Evidently  at  his  departure  things  had  taken  place  ; 
the  Circassian  must  have  been  giving  the  people 
of  the  hotel  a  very  queer  idea  of  his  powers  of 
equilibrium,  because  his  back  and  arms  are  soiled 
with  large  spots  of  dust. 

"  Wretched  horse !  "  said  he,  bowing  to  the 
ladies,  while  the  basket-wagon  started  once  more, 
**  wretched  horse !  but  I  have  forced  him  to  a 
walk !  " 

He  had  forced  him  so  well  to  a  walk  that  now 
the  strange  beast  would  not  go  ahead  at  all,  pranc- 
ing and  turning  about  on  one  spot  like  a  sick  cat, 
notwithstanding  all  the  efforts  made  by  his  rider. 
The  carriage  was  already  far  away. 

•'Are  you  coming,  Bompard?  " 


The  Speech  at  Cha7nbery,  261 

"  Go  on  ahead,  I  '11  rejine  you  !  "  cried  he  once 
more  in  his  finest  Marseilles  twang;  then  he  made 
a  despairing  gesture  and  they  saw  him  rushing  off 
in  the  direction  of  Arvillard  in  a  furious  whirl  of 
hoofs.  Everybody  thought :  "  He  must  have  for- 
gotten something,"  and  nobody  thought  about  him 
further. 

The  turnpike  curved  about  the  hills,  a  broad 
highroad  of  France  set  with  walnut-trees,  having 
to  the  left  forests  of  chestnut  and  pines  growing  on 
terraces  and  on  the  right  tremendous  slopes  roll- 
ing down  as  far  as  one  could  see,  down  to  the 
plain  where  villages  appear  crowded  together  in 
the  hollows  of  the  landscape.  There  were  the 
vineyards,  fields  of  wheat  and  corn,  mulberries, 
almond-trees  and  dazzling  carpets  of  Spanish 
broom,  the  seeds  of  which,  exploding  in  the  heat, 
kept  up  a  constant  popping  as  if  the  very  soil  were 
crackling  and  all  on  fire.  One  could  readily  sup- 
pose it  were  so,  considering  the  heavy  air  and  the 
furnace  heat  that  did  not  seem  to  come  from  the 
sun — which  was  almost  invisible,  having  retired 
behind  a  sort  of  haze  —  but  appeared  to  emanate 
from  burning  vapors  of  the  earth;  it  made  the 
sight  of  Glayzin  and  its  top,  surmounted  with 
snows  which  one  might  touch,  as  it  seemed,  with 
the  end  of  one's  umbrella,  look  dehciously  re- 
freshing to  the  sight. 

Roumestan  could  not  remember  ever  to  have 
seen  a  landscape  to  be  compared  with  that  one ; 
no,  not  even  in  his  dear  Provence;  and  he  could 
not   imagine   happiness   more   complete   than  his 


262  Numa  Roumestan, 

own.  No  anxiety,  no  remorse.  His  wife  faithful 
and  believing,  the  hope  of  a  child,  the  prediction 
Bouchereau  had  uttered  concerning  Hortense,  the 
ruinous  effect  which  the  appearance  in  ^kv^  Journal 
Officiel  of  the  decree  as  to  Cadaillac  would  pro- 
duce —  none  of  these  had  any  existence  so  far  as 
he  was  concerned.  His  entire  destiny  was  wrapt  up 
in  that  beautiful  girl  whose  eyes  reflected  his  own, 
whose  knees  touched  his,  and  who,  beneath  her 
blue  veil  turned  to  a  rose-color  by  her  blond 
flesh,  sang  to  him  while  pressing  his  hand : 

"  Maintenant  je  me  sens  aimie^ 
Fuyons  tous  deux  sous  la  ramie^ 
(Now  I  trust  my  lover's  vows, 
Let  us  fly  beneath  the  boughs.) 

While  they  were  rapidly  whirling  away  in  the 
breeze  made  by  their  motion,  the  turnpike,  grad- 
ually  becoming  lonelier,  widened  out  their  horizons 
little  by  little,  permitting  them  to  see  an  immense 
plain  in  a  semicircle  with  its  lakes  and  villages 
and  then  mountains  differing  in  shade  according 
to  their  distance ;   it  was  Savoy  beginning. 

"  O  !  how  beautiful !  O  !  how  beautiful !  '*  said 
the  little  singer ;  and  he  answered  in  a  low  voice : 
"  How  I  do  love  you !  " 

At  the  last  halt  Bompard  came  up  to  them  once 
more,  but  very  piteously,  on  foot,  dragging  his 
horse  after  him  by  the  bridle. 

"This  brute  is  most  extraordinary,"  said  he  with- 
out further  explanation,  and  when  the  ladies  asked 
him  if  he  had  fallen :  "  No  —  it 's  my  old  wound 
which  has  opened  again." 


The  Speech  at  Chambery.  263 

Wounded!  where  and  when?  He  had  never 
spoken  of  it  before.  But  with  Bompard  one  had 
to  expect  any  surprise.  They  made  him  get  into 
the  carriage;  and  with  his  very  mild-mannered 
horse  quietly  fastened  behind  they  set  off  toward 
Chateau  Bayard,  whose  two  pepper-box  towers, 
wretchedly  restored,  could  be  seen  on  a  high  piece 
of  ground. 

A  maid  servant  came  to  meet  them,  a  quick- 
witted mountaineer's  woman  in  the  service  of  an 
old  priest  formerly  in  charge  of  parishes  in  the 
neighborhood,  who  dwells  in  Chateau  Bayard  with 
the  proviso  that  tourists  may  enter  freely.  When 
a  visitor  is  announced  the  priest  goes  up  to  his 
bed-chamber  in  a  very  dignified  way,  unless  indeed 
it  is  a  question  of  personages  of  note;  but  the 
Minister,  sly  fellow,  took  good  care  not  to  give  his 
title,  so  that  it  was  in  the  guise  of  ordinary  visit- 
ors that  they  were  shown  by  the  servant — with  her 
phrases  learned  by  heart  and  the  canting  tone  of 
people  of  this  sort  —  all  that  is  left  of  the  old  manor 
of  the  chevalier  sans  penr  et  sans  reproche^  whilst 
the  driver  laid  out  breakfast  under  an  arbor  in  the 
little  garden. 

"  Here  you  have  the  antique  chapel  where  our 
good  chevalier  morning  and  evening  .  .  .  Ladies 
and  gentlemen  will  kindly  notice  the  thickness  of 
the  walls." 

But  they  did  n't  notice  anything  at  all.  It  was 
very  dark  and  they  stumbled  against  the  broken 
bits  of  wall  which  were  dimly  lit  from  a  loophole, 
the  light  of  which  fell  through  a  hay-loft  estab- 


264  Numa  Roumestan, 

lished  above  the  beams  of  the  ceiHng.  Numa,  his 
Httle  girl's  arm  under  his  own,  made  some  fun  of 
the  ChevaHer  Bayard  and  of  *'  his  worthy  mother/' 
dame  Helene  des  AUemans.  The  odor  of  ancient 
things  bored  them  to  death,  and  actually,  at  one 
time,  in  order  to  try  the  echo  of  the  vaulted  ceil- 
ing in  the  kitchen,  Mme.  Bachellery  started  to  sing 
the  last  ballad  composed  by  her  husband,  but 
really  a  very  naughty  one  — 

J'tiens  qa  a' papa  .  .  .  j''tie7is  ga  d'maman  .  ,  . 
(That 's  me  legacy  from  Popper  .  .  .  that 's  me  legacy  from 
Mommer  .  .  .) 

and  yet  nobody  was  scandaHzed ;  quite  the  con- 
trary. 

.  But  outside,  when  breakfast  was  served  on  a 
massive  stone  table,  and  after  their  first  hunger  had 
been  appeased,  the  valley  of  the  Graisivaudan,  Les 
Bauges,  the  severe  buttresses  of  the  Grande-Char- 
treuse and  the  contrast  made  by  that  landscape 
full  of  tremendous  lines  with  the  little  terrace 
grass-plot  where  this  solitary  old  man  dwelt —  given 
up  entirely  to  prayer,  to  his  tulip-trees  and  to  his 
bees  —  affected  little  by  little  their  spirits  with  some- 
thing sweet  and  grave  which  was  akin  to  reflection. 
At  dessert  the  Minister,  opening  his  guide-book 
to  refresh  his  memory,  spoke  about  Bayard  "  and 
of  his  poor  dame  mother  who  did  tenderly  weep  " 
on  that  day  when  the  child,  setting  out  for  Cham- 
b6ry  to  be  page  at  the  Court  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy, 
caused  his  little  bay  nag  to  prance  in  front  of  the 
north  gate,  on  that  very  place  where  the  shadow 


The  Speech  at  Chambery.  265 

of  the  great  tower  was  lengthening  itself,  slender 
but  majestic,  like  the  phantom  of  the  old  vanished 
castle. 

And  Numa,  exciting  himself,  read  to  them  the 
fine  sentiments  of  Madame  Helene  to  her  son  at 
the  moment  of  his  departure : 

"  Pierre,  my  friend,  I  recommend  to  thee  that 
before  everything  else  thou  shalt  love,  fear  and 
serve  God  without  in  any  wise  doing  Him  offence, 
if  that  be  possible." 

Standing  there  on  the  terrace,  sweeping  off  a 
gesture  which  carried  as  far  as  Chambery: 

*'  That  is  what  should  be  said  to  children,  that  is 
what  all  parents,  that  is  what  all  schoolmasters  — " 

He  stopped  short  and  struck  his  brow  with  his 
hand.: 

"My  speech! — why,  that  is  my  speech!  —  I 
have  it  I  splendid !  the  Chateau  Bayard,  a  local 
legend  —  for  fifteen  days  have  I  been  looking  for 
it —  and  here  it  is  !  " 

"  Why,  it  is  pure  Providence,"  cried  Mme. 
Bachellery,  full  of  admiration,  but  thinking  all  the 
same  that  the  breakfast  was  ending  rather  solemnly. 
"What  a  man  !     What  a  man  !  " 

The  little  girl  seemed  also  very  much  excited, 
but  of  this  impression  Roumestan  took  no  heed  ; 
the  orator  was  boiling  in  him,  behind  his  brow 
and  in  his  breast ;  so,  completely  absorbed  with  his 
idea: 

"  The  fine  thing,"  said  he,  casting  his  eyes  about 
him,  "  the  fine  thing  would  be  to  date  the  speech 
from  Chateau  Bayard  —  " 


266  Numa  Roumestan, 

"  O,  if  Mr.  Lawyer  should  want  a  little  corner 
in  which  to  write  —  " 

"  Why,  yes,  only  to  jot  down  a  few  notes. 
You  '11  excuse  me,  ladies,  just  for  the  time  that 
will  do  to  drink  your  coffee,  and  I  will  be  back. 
It 's  merely  to  be  able  to  put  the  date  to  my  speech 
without  telling  a  lie." 

The  servant  placed  him  in  a  little  room  on  the 
ground  floor,  most  ancient  in  appearance,  whose 
domelike,  vaulted  ceiling  still  carries  traces  of 
gilding;  an  ancient  room  which  they  pretend  was- 
Bayard's  oratory,  just  as  they  present  to  you  as  his 
bedroom  the  big  hall  to  one  side  in  which  an 
enormous  peasant's  bed,  with  a  canopy  and  dark 
blue  curtains,  is  set  up. 

It  was  very  nice  to  write  between  those  thick 
walls  into  which  the  heavy  atmosphere  of  the  day 
could  not  penetrate,  behind  that  half-open  shutter 
which  threw  a  pencil  of  light  across  the  page  and 
allowed  the  perfumes  from  the  little  garden  to 
enten  At  first  the  orator's  pen  was  not  quick 
enough  to  keep  pace  with  the  flow  of  his  ideas; 
he  poured  out  his  phrases  headlong,  in  a  mass  — 
well  worn  but  eloquent  phrases  of  a  Provencal 
lawyer,  filled  with  a  hidden  heat  and  the  sput- 
tering of  sparks  here  and  there,  like  the  outflow 
of  molten  metal.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  his  head 
emptied  of  words  or  rendered  heavy  by  the  fatigue 
of  the  journey  and  the  weight  of  the  breakfast. 
Then  he  marched  up  and  down  from  the  oratory 
to  the  bedroom,  talking  in  a  high  voice,  lashing 
himself,  listening  to  his  footsteps  under  the  sono- 


The  Speech  at  Chambery,  267 

rous  vaults  as  if  they  were  those  of  some  illustrious 
revenant,  and  then  he  set  himself  down  again  with- 
out the  thoughts  to  put  down  a  line.  Everything 
swam  about  him,  the  walls  brilliantly  white-washed 
and  that  pencil  of  sunlight  which  seemed  to  hyp- 
notize him.  He  heard  the  noise  of  plates  and 
laughter  in  the  garden,  far,  far  away,  and  pres- 
ently, with  his  nose  on  the  paper,  he  had  fallen  fast 
asleep. 

A  tremendous  thunder-clap  made  him  start  to  his 
feet.  How  long  had  he  been  there?  His  head  a 
little  confused,  he  stepped  out  into  the  deserted 
and  motionless  garden.  The  fragrance  of  the 
tulip-trees  made  the  air  heavy.  Under  the  vacant 
arbor  wasps  were  heavily  flying  about  the  heeltaps 
in  the  champagne  glasses  and  the  bits  of  sugar  left 
in  the  cups,  which  the  mountaineer's  woman  was 
hurriedly  clearing  off,  seized  by  the  nervous  fear 
of  an  animal  at  the  approach  of  a  thunder-storm 
and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  each  time  the 
lightning  flashed.  She  informed  Numa  that  the 
young  lady  had  found  herself  with  a  bad  headache 
after  breakfast  and  so  she  had  taken  her  to  Bayard's 
chamber  to  sleep  a  little,  closing  the  door  "  vary 
gently "  in  order  not  to  bother  the  gentleman  at 
his  work.  The  two  others,  the  fat  lady  and  .the 
man  with  the  white  hat,  had  gone  down  toward  the 
valley  and  without  any  doubt  they  would  catch  it, 
because  there  was  going  to  be  a  terrible  .  .  .  "just 
look !  " 

In  the  direction  she  indicated,  on  the  choppy 
crest  of  Les  Bauges  and  the  chalky  peaks  of  the 


268  Numa  Roumestan, 

Grande-Chartreuse,  which  were  enveloped  In  light- 
ning flashes  like  some  mysterious  Mount  Sinai,  the 
sky  was  darkened  by  an  enormous  blot  of  ink 
that  grew  larger  every  instant,  under  which  the 
whole  valley  took  on  an  extraordinary  luminous 
value,  like  the  light  from  a  white  and  obhque  re- 
flector, according  as  this  sombre  and  growling 
threat  continued  to  advance.  All  the  valley  shared 
in  the  change,  the  reflux  of  wind  in  the  tops  of  the 
green  trees,  the  golden  masses  of  grain,  the  high- 
ways indicated  by  feathery  clouds  of  white  dust 
raised  by  the  wind  and  the  silver  surface  of  the 
river  Isere.  In  the  far  distance  Roumestan  per- 
ceived the  canvas  pith  helmet  of  Bompard,  which 
shone  like  a  lighthouse  reflector. 

He  went  in  again  but  could  not  take  hold  of  his 
work.  For  the  moment  sleep  no  longer  paralyzed 
his  pen ;  on  the  contrary  he  felt  himself  strangely 
excited  by  the  presence  of  Alice  Bachellery  in  the 
next  chamber.  By  the  way,  was  she  still  there? 
He  opened  the  door  a  little  and  did  not  dare  to 
shut  it  again  for  fear  of  disturbing  the  charming 
slumber  of  the  singer,  who  had  thrown  herself  with 
loosened  clothes  on  the  bed  in  a  troubling  disorder 
of  tumbled  hair,  open  corset  and  white,  half-seen 
curves. 

"  Come,  come,  Numa,  beware !  it  is  the  bed- 
room of  Bayard;  what  the  deuce!" 

Positively  he  seized  himself  by  the  collar  like  a 
malefactor,  dragged  himself  back  and  forcibly 
seated  himself  at  the  table.  He  put  his  head  be- 
tween his  hands,  closing  his  eyes  and  his  ears  in 


The  Speech  at  Chambery,  269 

order  to  absorb  himself  completely  In  the  last 
phrase,  which  he  repeated  in  a  low  voice : 

"Yes,  gentlemen,  the  sublime  advice  of  the 
mother  of  Bayard,  which  has  come  down  to  us  in 
that  mellifluous  tongue  of  the  middle  ages  —  would 
that  the  University  of  France  .  .  ." 

The  storm  was  so  heavy  and  depleting,  like  the 
shade  of  certain  trees  in  the  tropics,  it  took  away 
his  nerve.  His  head  was  swimming,  intoxicated 
by  the  exquisite  perfumes  given  forth  by  the  bitter 
flowers  of  the  tulip-trees  or  else  by  that  armful  of 
blond  hair  scattered  over  the  bed  not  far  off. 
Wretched  Minister !  It  was  all  very  well  to  cling 
to  his  speech  and  to  invoke  the  aid  of  the  chevalier 
sans  peur  et  sans  reproche^  public  instruction,  relig- 
ious culture,  the  rector  of  Chambery  —  nothing 
was  of  any  use.  He  had  to  return  into  Bayard's 
bedchamber,  and  this  time  so  close  to  the  sleep- 
ing girl  that  he  could  hear  her  gentle  breathing 
and  touch  with  his  hand  the  tassel  stuff  of  the  cur- 
tains which  framed  this  provoking  slumber,  this 
mother-of-pearl  flesh  with  the  shadows  and  the 
rosy  undercolor  of  a  naughty  drawing  in  red  chalk 
by  Fragonard. 

But  even  there,  on  the  brink  of  temptation,  the 
Minister  still  fought  with  himself  and  in  a  mechani- 
cal murmur  his  lips  continued  to  mumble  that  sub- 
lime advice  which  the  University  of  France —  when 
a  sudden  roll  of  thunder,  whose  claps  came  nearer 
and  nearer,  woke  the  singer  all  of  a  jump. 

"Oh,  what  a  fear  I  was  in  —  hello!  is  it  you?" 
She  recognized  him  with  a  smile,  with  those  clear 


270  Numa  Roumestan, 

eyes  of  a  child  which  wakes  up  without  the  slight- 
est embarrassment  at  its  own  disorder ;  and  there 
they  remained  motionless  and  affected  by  the 
silence  and  growing  flame  of  their  desire.  But  the 
bedroom  was  suddenly  plunged  in  a  big  dark 
shadow  by  the  clapping-to  of  the  tall  shutters, 
which  the  wind  banged  shut  one  after  the  other. 
They  heard  the  doors  slam,  a  key  fall,  the  whirling 
of  leaves  and  flowers  over  the  sand  as  far  as  the 
lintel  of  the  door  through  which  the  hurricane 
plaintively  moaned. 

"  What  a  storm  !  "  said  she  in  a  very  low  voice, 
taking  hold  of  his  burning  hand  and  almost  drag- 
ging him  beneath  the  curtains  — 

*'  Yes,  gentlemen,  this  sublime  advice  of  Bayard's 
mother,  which  has  come  down  to  us  in  that  mel- 
lifluous tongue  of  the  middle  ages —  " 

It  was  at  Chambery  this  time,  in  sight  of  the  old 
Chateau  of  Savoy  and  of  that  marvellous  amphi- 
theatre formed  of  green  hills  and  snowy  mountains 
which  Chateaubriand  remembered  when  he  saw 
Mount  Taygetus,  that  the  grand  m.aster  of  the  Uni- 
versity was  speaking,  thickly  surrounded  by  em- 
broidered coats,  by  palm  decorations,  by  orders 
with  ermine,  by  epaulettes  decked  with  big  tassels ; 
there  he  was,  dominating  an  enormous  crowd 
excited  by  the  power  of  his  will  and  the  gesture 
of  his  strong  hand  that  still  grasped  a  little  ivory- 
handled  trowel  with  which  he  had  just  spread  the 
mortar  for  the  first  stone  of  the  new  Lyceum. 

*'  Would   that  the  University  of  France  might 


The  Speech  at  Chambery,  ?.yi 

speak  those  words  to  every  one  of  its  boys :  *  Pierre, 
my  friend,  I  recommend  to  thee  before  everything 
else  that  .  .  .  ' " 

And  whilst  he  quoted  those  touching  words 
emotion  caused  his  hand,  his  voice  and  his  broad 
cheeks  to  tremble  at  the  memory  of  that  great 
perfumed  room  in  which,  during  the  agitation 
caused  by  a  most  memorable  thunder-storm,  the 
Chambery  speech  had  been  composed. 


272 


Numa  Roumestan, 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  VICTIMS. 

A  MORNING  at  ten  o'clock.  The  antechamber  at 
the  Ministry  of  Public  Instruction  ;  a  long  corri- 
dor badly  lighted,  with  dark  hangings  and  an, 
oaken  wainscot.  The  gallery  is  full  of  a  crowd  of 
office-seekers,  seated  or  sauntering  about,  who 
from  minute  to  minute  become  more  numerous; 
each  new  arrival  gives  his  card  to  the  solemn  clerk 
wearing  his  chain  of  office,  who  receives  it,  ex- 
amines and  without  a  word  deposits  it  by  his  side 
on  the  slab  of  the  little  table  where  he  is  writing; 
all  this  in  the  haggard  light  from  a  window  drip- 
ping from  a  gentle  October  rain. 

One  of  the  last  arrivals,  however,  has  the  honor 
of  stirring  the  august  impassiveness  of  this  clerk. 
He  is  a  great  big  man,  weather-beaten,  sunburned 
and  of  a  tarry  aspect,  with  two  little  silver  anchors 
in  his  ears  for  rings  and  with  the  voice  of  a  seal 
that  has  caught  a  cold  —  just  such  a  voice  as  one 
hears  in  the  transparent  early  morning  mists  in 
the  seaports  of  Provence. 

*'  Let  him  know  that  it  is  Cabantous,  the  pilot  — 
he  knows  what  is  up;   he  expects  me." 

"  You  are  not  the  only  one,"  answers  the  clerk, 
who  smiles  discreetly  at  his  own  joke. 


The   Victims,  273 

Cabantous  does  not  appreciate  the  delicacy  of 
the  joke ;  but  he  laughs  in  good  humor,  his  mouth 
opening  back  as  far  as  the  silver  anchors;  and, 
making  use  of  his  shoulders,  he  pushes  through 
the  crowd,  which  falls  aside  before  his  wet  um- 
brella, and  installs  himself  on  a  bench  alongside 
a  sufferer  who  is  almost  as  weather-beaten  as 
himself. 

"  Te !  v^ !  —  why,  it  is  Cabantous.  Hello, 
how  are  you  ?  " 

The  pilot  begs  his  pardon  —  cannot  recall  who 
it  is. 

"  Valmajour,  you  remember;  we  used  to  know 
each  other  down  there  in  the  arena." 

''That  is  true,  by  gad.  —  Be\  my  good  fellow, 
you  at  least  can  say  that  Paris  has  changed 
you  —  " 

The  tabor-player  has  now  become  a  gentleman 
with  very  long  black  hair  pushed  behind  his  ears 
in  the  manner  of  the  musical  person,  and  that, 
along  with  his  swarthy  complexion  and  his  blue- 
black  moustache,  at  which  he  is  constantly  pulling, 
makes  him  look  like  one  of  the  gypsies  at  the 
Ginger-bread  Fair.  On  top  of  all  this  a  constant 
look  of  the  village  cock  with  its  crest  up,  a  con- 
ceit like  that  of  village  beau  and  musician  com- 
bined, in  which  the  exaggeration  of  his  Southern 
origin  betrays  itself  and  slops  over,  notwithstand- 
ing his  tranquil  and  ungarrulous  appearance. 

His  lack  of  success  at  the  opera  has  not  fright- 
ened him  off;  like  all  actors  in  such  cases  he 
attributes  his  failure  to  a  cabal,  and  for  his  sister 


2  74  Numa  Roumestan, 

and  himself  that  word  *'  cabal "  has  taken  on 
barbark:  and  extraordinary  proportions,  and  more- 
over a  Sanscrit  spelling  —  the  khabbala  —  a  mys- 
terious monster  which  combines  the  traits  of  the 
rattlesnake  and  the  pale  horse  of  the  Apocalypse. 

And  so  he  relates  to  Cabantous  that  he  is  about 
to  appear  in  a  few  days  at  a  great  variety  show  in 
a  cafe  on  the  boulevard  — "  An  eskating-rink  I 
would  have  you  understand !  "  where  he  is  to 
figure  in  some  living  pictures,  at  two  hundred 
francs  the  evening, 

"  Two  hundred  francs  an  evening !  "  The  eyes 
of  the  pilot  roll  in  his  head. 

**  And  besides  that,  they  will  cry  my  bography 
in  the  street  and  my  portrait  in  life  size  will  be  on 
all  the  walls  of  Paris,  wid  my  costume  of  a  trouba- 
dour of  the  old  times,  which  I  shall  put  on 
every  evening  when  I  do  my  music." 

What  flatters  him  most  in  all  of  this  is  the  cos- 
tume. What  a  bore  that  he  is  not  able  to  put  on  his 
crenelated  cap  and  his  long-pointed  shoes  in  order 
that  he  might  show  the  Minister  what  a  splendid 
engagement  he  has,  and  this  time  on  good  gov- 
ernment stamped  paper  which  was  signed  without 
Roumestan's  aid  !  Cabantous  looks  at  the  stamped 
paper,  smudged  on  both  its  faceS;,  and  sighs. 

*'  You  are  mighty  lucky ;  why,  look  at  me  —  it 's 
more  than  a  year  that  I  am  'oping  for  my  medal. 
Numa  told  me  to  send  my  papers  on  here  and  I 
did  send  my  papers  here  —  after  that  I  never  heard 
anything  more  about  the  medal,  nor  about  the 
papers,  nor  about  anything  else.     I  wrote  to  the 


The   Victims,  275 

Ministry  of  Marine;  they  don't  know  me  at 
the  Marine.  I  wrote  to  the  Minister  himself;  the 
Minister  did  not  answer.  And  what  beats  me  is 
this,  that  now,  when  I  have  n't  my  papers  with 
me  and  a  discussion  arises  among  the  mercantile 
captains  as  to  pilotage,  the  port  councilmen  won't 
listen  to  my  arguments.  So,  finding  that  was  the 
way  of  it,  I  put  my  ship  in  dry  dock  and  says  I 
to  myself:   Come,  let's  go  and  see  Numa." 

He  was  almost  in  tears  about  it,  was  this 
wretched  pilot.  Valmajour  consoles  and  reas- 
sures him  and  promises  to  speak  for  him  with  the 
Minister ;  he  does  this  in  an  assured  tone,  his 
finger  on  his  moustache,  like  a  man  to  whom 
people  can  refuse  nothing.  But  after  all  the 
haughty  attitude  is  not  peculiar  to  him ;  all  these 
people  who  are  waiting  for  an  audience  —  old 
priests  of  pious  manners  in  their  visiting  cloaks; 
methodical  and  authoritative  professors ;  dudish 
painters  with  their  hair  cut  Russian  fashion  ;  thick- 
set sculptors  with  broad  ends  to  their  fingers  — 
they  all  have  this  same  triumphant  air — special 
friends  of  the  Minister  and  sure  of  their  business. 
All  of  them,  as  they  came  in,  have  said  to  the 
clerk:    "He  expects  me." 

Each  one  is  filled  with  a  conviction  that  if  only 
Roumestan  knew  that  he  was  there !  —  This  it  is 
that  gives  a  very  particular  physiognomy  to  the 
antechamber  of  the  Ministry  of  PubHc  Instruction, 
without  a  trace  of  those  feverish  pallors,  of  those 
trembling  anxieties,  which  one  perceives  in  the 
vv'aiting-rooms  at  other  Ministries. 


276  Numa  Roumestan. 

*'Who  is  he  engaged  with?"  asks  Valmajour  in 
a  loud  voice,  going  up  to  the  little  table. 

*'  The  Director  of  the  Opera." 

"  Cadaillac  —  all  right,  I  know  —  it  is  about  my 
business !  " 

After  the  failure  made  by  the  tabor-player  in 
his  theatre  Cadaillac  had  refused  to  let  him  appear 
again.  Valmajour  wished  to  bring  suit,  but  the 
Minister,  who  was  afraid  of  the  lawyers  and  the 
little  newspapers,  had  begged  the  musician  to 
withdraw  his  plea,  guaranteeing  him  a  round  sum 
as  damages.  There  is  no  doubt  whatever  with 
Valmajour  that  they  are  at  this  moment  dis- 
cussing these  damages  and  not  without  a  certain 
animation,  too,  for  every  few  moments  the  clarion 
voice  of  Numa  penetrates  the  double  door  of 
his  sitting  room,  which  at  last  is  rudely  torn 
open. 

*'  She  is  not  my  protegee,  she  is  yours !  " 

Big  fat  Cadaillac  leaves  the  room,  hurling  this 
taunt,  crosses  the  antechamber  with  an  angry  gait 
and  passes  the  clerk  who  is  coming  up  between 
two  lines  of  solicitors. 

"  You  have  only  to  give  my  name." 

**  Let  him  only  know  that  I  am  here." 

"  Tell  'im  it's  Cabantous." 

The  clerk  listens  to  nobody,  but  marches  very 
solemnly  on  with  a  few  visiting  cards  in  his  hand 
and  the  door  which  he  leaves  partly  open  behind 
him  shows  the  Minister's  sitting-room  filled  with 
light  from  its  three  windows  overlooking  the 
garden,  all  of  one  panel   of  the  wall  covered  by 


The    Victims,  277 

the  cloak  turned  up  with  ermine  of  M.  de  Fon- 
tanes,  painted  standing  at  full  length. 

A  trace  of  astonishment  showing  on  his  cadav- 
erous face,  the  clerk  comes  back  and  calls : 

"  Monsieur  Valmajour." 

The  musician  is  not  at  all  astonished  at  passing 
in  this  way  over  the  heads  of  the  others. 

Since  early  morning  his  portrait  has  appeared 
placarded  on  all  the  walls  of  Paris.  Now  he  is  a 
personage  and  hereafter  the  Minister  will  no 
longer  cause  him  to  languish  among  the  draughts 
in  a  railway  station.  Conceited  and  smiling,  there 
he  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  luxurious  bureau 
where  secretaries  are  occupied  in  pulling  out 
drawers  and  cardboard  pigeon-holes  in  a  frantic 
search  for  something.  Roumestan  in  a  terrible 
rage  scolds,  thunders  and  curses,  both  hands  in 
his  pockets : 

"  Come  now,  be  done  with  it !  those  papers, 
what  the  devil !  —  So  they  have  been  lost,  have 
they,  that  pilot's  papers?  .  .  .  Really,  gentlemen, 
there  is  an  absence  of  order  here !  .  .  ." 

He  catches  sight  of  Valmajour:  ''Ha,  it's  you, 
is  it?"  and  he  springs  upon  him  with  one  leap,  the 
while  the  backs  of  the  secretaries  are  disappearing 
by  the  side  doors  in  a  state  of  terror,  each  carry- 
ing off  an  armful  of  boxes. 

"  Now  look  here,  are  you  never  going  to  stop 
persecuting  me  with  your  dog-at-the-fair  music? 
Haven't  you  had  enough  with  one  chance  at  it? 
How  many  do  you  require?  Now  they  tell  me 
that  there  you  are  on  all  the  walls  in  your  hybrid 


278  Numa  Roumestan, 

costume.  And  what  is  all  this  bosh  that  they 
have  brought  me  here?  —  that  your  biography? 
A  mass  of  blunders  and  lies.  You  know  perfectly 
well  that  you  are  no  more  a  Prince  than  I  am  and 
that  those  parchments  which  are  talked  about 
here  have  never  existed  save  in  your  own  imagina- 
tion !  " 

With  the  brutal  gesture  of  the  man  who  loves 
argument  he  grabbed  the  wretched  fellow  by  the 
flap  of  his  jacket  with  both  hands  and  as  he  talked 
kept  shaking  him.  In  the  first  place  this  "  eskat- " 
ing-rink"  didn't  have  a  penny  —  perfect  fakirs! 
They  would  never  pay  him  and  all  he  would  get 
would  be  the  shame  of  this  dirty  advertisement 
on  the  strength  of  his  name,  the  name  of  his 
protector.  Now  the  newspapers  could  begin  their 
jokes  again  —  Roumestan  and  Valmajour  the  fifer 
for  the  Ministry;  and,  growing  excited  at  the 
memory  ot  these  attacks,  his  big  cheeks  quivering 
with  the  anger  hereditary  in  his  family,  with  a  fit  of 
rage  like  those  of  Aunt  Portal,  more  scaring  in  the 
solemn  surroundings  of  an  office  where  the  per- 
sonality of  a  man  should  disappear  before  the 
public  situation,  he  screamed  at  the  top  of  his 
voice : 

"■  But  for  God's  sake  get  out  of  here,  you 
wretched  creature,  get  out  of  here !  We  have 
had  enough  of  your  shepherd's  fife  !  " 

Stunned  and  silly,  Valmajour  let  the  flood  go 
on,  stuttering,  "  All  right,  all  right,"  and  appealed 
to  the  pitying  face  of  Mejean,  the  only  man  whom 
the  Master's  rage  had  not  sent  into  headlong  flight, 


The   Victims,  279 

and  then  gazed  piteously  on  the  big  portrait  of 
Fontanes,  who  looked  scandalized  at  excesses  of 
this  sort  and  seemed  to  accentuate  his  grand  Min- 
isterial air  the  more,  in  proportion  as  Roumestan 
lost  his  own  dignity.  At  last,  escaping  from  the 
powerful  fist  which  clutched  him,  the  musician  was 
able  to  reach  the  door  and  fly  half-crazed  with 
his  tickets  for  the  ''  eskating." 

"  Cabantous,  pilot ! "  said  Numa,  reading  the 
name  which  the  impassive  clerk  presented  to  him, 
"  There 's  another  Valmajour !  But  no,  I  won't 
have  it;  I  have  had  enough  of  being  their  tool — ■ 
enough  for  to-day  —  I  am  no  longer  in  .  .  ." 

He  continued  to  march  up  and  down  his  office, 
trying  to  get  rid  of  what  remained  of  that  furious 
rage,,  the  shock  of  which  Valmajour  had  very 
unfairly  received.  That  Cadaillac,  what  impu- 
dence !  daring  to  come  and  reproach  him  about 
the  little  girl,  in  his  own  office,  in  the  Ministry 
itself,  and  before  Mejean,  before  Rochemaure ! 
*' Well,  certainly,  I  am  too  weak;  the  nomina- 
tion of  that  man  to  the  directorship  of  the  opera 
was  a  terrible  blunder !  " 

His  chief  clerk  was  entirely  of  that  opinion  but 
he  would  have  taken  good  care  not  to  say  so ; 
for  Numa  was  no  longer  the  good  fellow  he  used 
to  be,  who  was  the  first  to  laugh  at  his  own 
embarrassments  and  took  railleries  and  remon- 
strances in  good  part.  Having  become  the  practi- 
cal chief  of  the  cabinet  in  consequence  of  his 
speech  at  Chambery  and  a  few  other  oratorical 
triumphs,  the  intoxication  that  comes  with  heights 


28o  Numa  Roumestan, 

gained,  that  royal  atmosphere  where  the  strongest 
heads  are  turned,  had  changed  him  quite,  had 
made  him  nervous,  splenetic  and  irritable. 

A  door  beneath  a  curtain  opened  and  Mme. 
Roumestan  appeared,  ready  to  go  out,  her  hair 
fashionably  dressed  and  a  long  cloak  concealing 
her  figure.  With  that  serene  air  which  for  five 
months  back  lit  up  her  pretty  face :  '*  Have  you 
your  council  to-day,  my  dear?  Good-morning, 
Monsieur  Mejean." 

**  Why,  yes,  council  —  a  meeting  —  everything !  " 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  to  come  as  far  as 
Mamma's  house;  I  am  breakfasting  there;  Hor- 
tense  would  have  been  so  glad !  " 

**  But  you  see  it  is  impossible."  He  looked  at 
his  watch :   **  I  ought  to  be  at  Versailles  at  noon." 

'*  Then  I  will  wait  for  you  and  take  you  to  the 
station." 

He  hesitated  a  second,  not  more  than  a  second: 

**  All  right,  I  will  put  my  signature  here  and 
then  we  will  go." 

While  he  was  writing  Rosalie  was  giving  Mejean 
news  of  her  sister  in  a  low  tone.  The  coming  of 
winter  affected  her  spirits;  she  was  forbidden  to 
go  out.  Why  did  he  not  call  upon  her }  She 
had  need  of  all  her  friends.  Mejean  gave  a  ges- 
ture of  discouragement  and  woe :  "  Oh,  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned  .  .  ." 

"But  I  tell  you  yes,  there  is  a  good  deal  more 
chance  for  you.  It  is  only  caprice  on  her  part; 
I  am  sure  that  it  cannot  last." 

She  saw  everything  in  a  rosy  light  and  wanted 


The   Victims,  281 

to  have  all  the  world  about  her  as  happy  as  she 
was  —  O,  how  happy !  and  glad  with  so  perfect  a 
joy  that  she  indulged  in  a  certain  superstition 
never  to  acknowledge  the  fulness  of  her  joy  to  her- 
self. As  for  Roumestan,  he  talked  about  his  affair 
everywhere  with  a  comical  sort  of  pride,  to  indif- 
ferent people  as  well  as  to  his  intimates : 

"  We  are  going  to  call  it  the  child  of  the 
Ministry !  "  and  then  he  would  laugh  at  his  joke 
till  the  tears  came. 

And  of  a  truth  those  who  knew  about  his 
existence  outside,  the  household  in  the  city  impu- 
dently established  with  receptions  and  an  open 
table,  this  husband  who  was  so  sensitive  and 
tender  and  who  talked  of  his  coming  fatherhood 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  appeared  a  character  not  to 
be  defined,  perfectly  at  peace  in  his  lies,  sincere 
in  his  expansiveness,  putting  to  the  rout  the  con- 
clusions of  those  who  did  not  understand  the 
dangerous  complications  of  Southern  natures. 

"  Certainly,  I  will  take  you  there,"  said  he  to 
his  wife  as  they  got  into  the  carriage. 

**  But  if  they  are  waiting  for  you?  " 

"  Well,  so  much  the  worse  for  them ;  let  them 
wait  for  me  —  we  shall  be  together  all  the  longer.'* 

He  took  Rosalie's  arm  under  his  own  and  press- 
ing against  her  as  if  he  were  a  child : 

"  Te!  do  you  know  that  I  am  happy  only  in  this 
place?  Your  gentleness  rests  me,  your  coolness 
comforts  me.  That  Cadaillac  put  me  into  such  a 
state  of  rage !  He  's  a  fellow  without  any  con- 
science, he  's  a  fellow  without  any  morality  —  " 


282  Numa  Roumestan, 

"You  did  n't  know  his  character,  then?  " 
**The  way  he  is  carrying  on  that  theatre  is  a 
burning  shame !  " 

"  It  is  true  that  the  engagement  of  that  Mile. 
Bachellery  .  .  .  why  did  you  let  him  do  it?  A 
girl  who  is  false  in  everything,  her  youth,  her 
voice,  even  her  eyelashes." 

Numa  felt  his  cheeks  reddening;  it  was  he 
himself  who  fastened  them  on,  now,  with  his  own 
great  big  fingers,  those  eyelashes  !  The  little  girl's 
mamma  had  taught  him  how  to  do  it. 

"  Whom  does  this  little  good-for-nothing  belong 
to,  anyhow }  The  Messenger  was  talking  the 
other  day  of  influences  in  high  circles,  of  some 
mysterious  protection — " 

"  I  don't  know;   to  Cadaillac,  undoubtedly." 
He  turned  away  in   order  to    conceal   his  em.- 
barrassment    and    suddenly   threw    himself    back 
horrified. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Rosalie,  looking  out  of 
the  window  too. 

There  was  the  placard  of  the  skating-rink,  enor- 
mous, printed  in  crying  colors  which  showed  out 
under  the  rainy  and  gray  sky,  repeating  itself  at 
every  street  corner,  on  every  vacant  space  of  a 
naked  wall  and  on  the  planks  of  temporary  fences. 
It  showed  a  gigantic  troubadour  encircled  with 
living  pictures  as  a  border  —  all  blotches  in  yel- 
low, green  and  blue,  with  the  ochre  color  of  the 
tabor  placed  across  the  figure.  The  long  hoard- 
ing which  surrounded  the  new  building  of  the  city 
hall,  past  which  their  carriage  was  going  at  the 


The   Victims,  283 

moment,  was  covered  with  this  coarse  and  noisy 
advertisement,  which  was  stupefying  even  to  Pari- 
sian idiocy. 

"  My  executioner !  "  said  Roumestan  with  an 
expression  of  comic  dismay.  Rosalie  found  fault 
with  him  gently. 

**  No  —  your  victim  !  and  would  that  he  were 
the  only  one  !  But  somebody  else  has  caught  fire 
from  your  enthusiasm —  " 

/'Who  can  that  be?" 

"  Hortense." 

Then  she  told  him  what  she  had  finally  proved 
to  be  a  certainty,  notwithstanding  the  mysteries 
made  by  the  young  girl  —  namely,  her  affection  for 
this  peasant,  a  thing  which  at  first  she  had  be- 
lieved a  mere  fancy,  but  which  worried  her  now 
like  a  moral  aberration  in  her  sister. 

The  Minister  was  in  a  state  of  indignation. 

"■  How  can  it  be  possible  ?  That  hobnail,  that 
bog-trotter !  " 

•*  She  sees  him  with  her  imagination,  and  espe- 
cially in  the  light  of  your  legends  and  inventions 
which  she  has  not  been  able  to  put  in  the  right  fo- 
cus. That  is  why  this  advertisement  and  grotesque 
coloring  which  enrage  you  fill  me  on  the  con- 
trary with  joy.  I  believe  that  her  hero  will  appear 
so  ridiculous  to  her  that  she  will  no  longer  dare  to 
love  him.  If  it  were  not  for  that,  I  hardly  know 
what  would  become  of  us.  Can  you  imagine  the 
despair  of  my  father;  can  you  imagine  yourself 
the  brother-in-law  of  Valmajour?  —  oh,  Numa, 
Numa !   poor  involuntary  maker  of  dupes." 


20)4 


Numa  Roumestait, 


He  did  not  put  up  any  defence,  but  indulged 
in  anger  against  himself,  against  his  "  cussed 
Southernism  "  which  he  was  not  able  to  overcome. 

*'  Look  here,  you  ought  to  stay  always  just  as 
you  are,  right  up  against  my  side  as  my  beloved 
councillor  and  my  holy  protection.  You  alone 
are  good  and  indulgent,  you  alone  understand 
and  love  me." 

He  held  her  little  gloved  hand  to  his  lips  and 
said  this  with  such  a  firm  conviction  that  tears, 
real  tears,  reddened  his  eyelids:  then,  warmed  up 
and  refreshed  by  this  effusion,  he  felt  better;  and 
so,  when  they  reached  the  Place  Royale  and  with  a 
thousand  tender  precautions  he  had  helped  his 
wife  out  of  the  carriage,  it  was  with  a  joyous  tone 
and  one  free  of  all  remorse  that  he  threw  the 
address  to  his  coachman:  *'  London  Street,  hurry, 
quick !  " 

Moving  slowly,  Rosalie  vaguely  caught  this 
address  and  it  gave  her  pain.  Not  that  she  had 
the  slightest  suspicion;  but  he  had  just  said  that 
he  was  going  to  the  Saint-Lazare  station.  Why 
was  it  that  his  acts  were  never  in  accordance  with 
his  words? 

In  her  sister's  bedroom  another  cause  for  anx- 
iety met  her:  she  felt  on  entering  that  there 
had  been  a  sudden  stoppage  of  a  discussion 
between  Hortense  and  Audiberte,  who  still  kept 
the  traces  of  fury  on  her  face  while  her  peasant's 
head-dress  still  quivered  on  her  hair  bristling  with 
rage.  Rosalie's  presence  kept  her  in  bounds,  that 
was  clear   enough    from    her   lips    and    eyebrows 


The   Victims,  285 

viciously  drawn  together.  Still,  as  the  young  wife 
asked  her  how  she  did,  she  was  forced  to  answer 
and  so  began  to  talk  feverishly  of  the  eskatingy 
of  the  advantageous  terms  which  were  offered 
them,  and  then,  surprised  at  Rosalie's  calm,  de- 
manded in  an  almost  insolent  tone: 

''Aren't  you  coming  to  hear  my  brother?  It  is 
something  that  is  at  least  worth  while,  if  for 
nothing  more  than  to  see  him  in  his  costume !  " 

This  ridiculous  costume  as  it  was  described  by 
her  in  her  peasant  dialect,  from  the  dents  in  the 
cap  down  to  the  high  curving  points  of  the  shoes, 
put  poor  Hortense  in  a  state  of  agony;  she  did 
not  dare  raise  her  eyes  to  her  sister's  face.  Rosa- 
lie asked  to  be  excused  from  going;  the  state  of 
her  health  did  not  permit  her  to  visit  the  theatre. 
Besides,  in  Paris  there  were  certain  places  of  en- 
tertainment where  all  women  could  not  go.  The 
peasant  woman  stopped  her  short  at  the  first 
suggestion. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  I  go  perfectly  well  and  I 
hope  I  am  as  good  as  anybody  else  —  I  have 
never  done  any  wrong,  I  have  not ;  /  have  always 
fulfilled  my  religious  duties." 

She  raised  her  voice  without  a  trace  of  her 
old  bashfulness,  just  as  If  she  had  acquired  rights 
in  the  house.  But  Rosalie  was  much  too  kind 
and  far  too  superior  to  this  poor  ignorant  thing 
to  cause  her  humiliation,  particularly  as  she  was 
thinking  about  the  responsibility  that  rested  on 
Numa.  So,  with  the  entire  Intelligence  of  her  heart 
and  revealing  as  usual  the  uncommon  delicacy  of 


286  Numa  Roumestan, 

her  mind,  in  those  truthful  words  that  heal  although 
they  may  sting  a  little,  she  endeavored  to  make 
Audiberte  understand  that  her  brother  had  not 
succeeded  and  never  would  succeed  in  Paris,  the 
implacable  city,  and  that  rather  than  obstinately 
continue  a  humiliating  struggle,  falling  into  the 
mire  and  mud  of  artistic  existence,  it  would  be  far 
better  for  them  to  return  to  their  Provence  and  buy 
their  farm  back  again,  the  means  to  accomplish 
which  would  be  furnished  them,  and  so,  in  their 
laborious  life  surrounded  by  nature,  forget  the 
unhappy  results  of  their  trip  to  Paris. 

The  peasant  girl  let  her  talk  to  the  very  end 
without  interrupting  her  a  single  moment,  merely 
darting  at  Hortense  a  look  of  irony  from  her 
wicked  eyes  as  though  to  challenge  her  to  make 
some  reply.  At  last,  seeing  that  the  young  girl 
did  not  wish  to  say  anything  more,  she  coldly 
declared  that  they  would  not  go,  because  her 
brother  had  all  kinds  of  engagements  in  Paris  — 
all  kinds  which  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
break.  Upon  that  she  threw  over  her  arm  the 
heavy  wet  cloak  which  had  been  lying  on  the 
back  of  a  chair,  made  a  hypocritical  curtsy  to 
Rosalie,  "Wishing  you  a  very  good  day,  Madame, 
and  thanking  you  very  much,  I  am  sure,"  and  left 
the  room,  followed  by  Hortense. 

In  the  antechamber,  lowering  her  voice  on 
account  of  the  servants  : 

"■  Sunday  evening,  qii^f  half  past  ten  without 
fail !  "  And  in  a  pressing,  authoritative  voice : 
'*  Come  now,  you  certainly  owe  that  to  your  pore 


The   Vic  thus.  28  y 

friend !  Just  to  give  him  a  little  heart  .  .  .  and  to 
start  with,  what  do  you  risk,  anyhow?  I  am 
coming  to  get  you  and  I  am  going  to  bring  you 
back ! " 

Seeing  that  Hortense  still  hesitated,  she  added 
almost  aloud  in  a  tone  of  menace :  "  Come  now, 
I  would  like  to  know:  are  you  his  betrothed  or 
not?" 

"  I  '11  come,  I  '11  come,"  said  the  young*  girl 
greatly  alarmed. 

When  she  returned  to  the  room,  seeing  that  she 
looked  worried  and  sad,  Rosalie  asked  her: 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  my  dear  girl? 
are  you  still  dreaming  the  continuation  of  your 
novel  ?  It  ought  to  be  getting  pretty  well  forward 
in  all  these  months,"  added  she,  taking  her  gayly 
around  the  waist. 

"  Oh,  yes,  pretty  well  forward  —  " 

After  a  silence  Hortense  continued  in  an 
obscure  tone  of  melancholy:  ''But  the  trouble  is, 
I  can't  see  my  way  to  the  close  of  the  novel." 

She  did  n't  care  for  him  any  more :  it  may  be 
that  she  never  had  loved  him.  Under  the  trans- 
forming power  of  absence  and  that  "  tender 
glory  "  which  misfortune  gave  to  the  Moor  Aben- 
cerage  he  had  appeared  to  her  from  a  distance 
as  her  man  of  destiny.  It  seemed  a  proud  act  on 
her  part  to  knit  her  own  existence  with  that  of  one 
who  was  abandoned  by  everything,  success  and 
protectors  together.  But  when  she  got  back  to 
Paris,  what  a  pitiless  clearness  of  things  I     What 


288  Numa  Roumestan, 

a  terror  to  perceive  how  absolutely  she  had  made 
a  mistake ! 

To  start  with,  Audiberte's  first  visit  had  shocked 
her  because  of  the  new  manners  of  the  girl,  too  fa- 
miliar and  free  and  easy,  and  because  of  the  look 
of  an  accomplice  which  she  gave  when  telling  her 
in  whispers :  "  Hush,  don't  say  anything !  he 's 
coming  to  get  me  .  .  ." 

That  kind  of  action  seemed  to  her  rather  hasty 
and  rather  bold,  more  especially  the  idea  of  pre- 
senting this  young  man  to  her  parents.  But  the 
peasant  girl  wanted  to  hurry  things.  And  then, 
all  at  once,  Hortense  perceived  her  error  when  she 
looked  upon  this  artist  of  the  variety  stage  with 
his  long  hair  behind  his  ears,  full  of  stage  move- 
ments, denting  in  and  shifting  his  sombrero  of 
Provence  on  his  characteristic  head  —  always 
handsome,  of  course,  but  full  of  a  plain  preoccupa- 
tion to  appear  so. 

Instead  of  taking  a  lowly  manner  in  order  to 
make  her  forgive  him  for  that  generous  spirit  of 
interest  which  she  had  felt  for  him,  he  preserved  his 
air  of  a  conqueror,  his  silly  look  of  the  victor,  and 
without  saying  a  word  —  for  he  would  hardly  have 
known  what  to  say  —  he  treated  this  finely  organ- 
ized Parisian  girl  just  as  he  would  in  similar  con- 
ditions have  treated  her^  the  Des  Combette  girl  — 
took  her  by  the  waist  with  the  motion  of  a  soldier 
and  troubadour  and  wanted  to  press  her  to  his 
breast.  She  disengaged  herself  with  a  sudden 
repulsion  and  a  letting  go  of  all  her  nerves,  leaving 
him   there  looking  foolish    and  astonished,  while 


The   Victims,  289 

Audiberte  quickly  intervened  and  scolded  her 
brother  violently.  What  kind  of  manners  had  he, 
anyhow?  It  must  have  been  in  Paris  that  he 
learned  such  manners,  in  the  Faubourg  Saint 
Germoyne,  without  a  doubt,  among  his  duchesses? 

'*  Come  now,  wait  at  least  until  she  is  your 
wife !  " 

And  turning  to  Hortense : 

"  O,  he  is  so  in  love  with  you ;  his  blood  is 
parching  with  his  \ovq,  p^ca'ir^ T* 

From  that  time  on,  when  Valmajour  came  to  get 
his  sister  he  considered  it  necessary  to  assume  the 
sombre  and  desperate  air  of  an  illustration  to  a 
ballad:  "'The  ocean  waits  for  me,'  the  Knight 
hadjured!'  In  other  conditions  the  young  girl 
might  have  been  touched,  but  really  the  poor  fel- 
low seemed  too  much  of  a  nullity.  All  he  knew 
how  to  do  was  to  smooth  the  nap  of  his  soft  hat 
while  reciting  the  list  of  his  successes  in  the  fau- 
bourg of  the  nobles,  or  else  the  rivalries  of  the 
stage.  One  day  he  talked  to  her  for  a  whole  hour 
about  the  vulgarity  of  handsome  Mayol,  who  had 
refrained  from  congratulating  him  at  the  end  of  a 
concert;   and    all    the   while   he    kept    repeating: 

"There  you  are  with  your  Mayol!  .  .  .  B^ ! 
he  is  not  very  polite,  your  Mayol  is  n't !  " 

And  all  this  was  accompanied  by  Audiberte's 
attitudes  of  watchfulness,  her  severity  of  a  police- 
man of  morals,  and  this  in  the  face  of  these  very 
cold  lovers  !  O,  if  she  had  been  able  to  divine 
what  a  terror  possessed  the  soul  of  Hortense,  what 
a  loathing  for  her  frightful  mistake ! 

19 


290  Numa  Roumesfan, 

"  Ho !  what  a  capon  —  what  a  capon  of  a 
girl — "  she  would  sometimes  say  to  her,  trying  to 
laugh,  with  her  eyes  brimming  with  rage,  because 
she  considered  that  this  love-affair  was  dragging 
too  much  and  believed  that  the  young  girl  was 
hesitating  for  fear  of  meeting  the  reproaches  and 
anger  of  her  parents.  Just  as  if  that  would  have 
weighed  a  straw  in  the  balance  for  such  a  free  and 
proud  nature,  had  there  been  a  real  love  in  her 
heart;  but  how  can  one  say:  "I  love  him,"  and 
buckle  on  one's  armor,  rouse  one's  spirits  and  fight,- 
when  one  does  not  love  at  all? 

However,  she  had  promised,  and  every  day  she 
was  harassed  by  new  demands.  For  instance 
there  was  that  first  night  at  the  skating-rink,  to 
which  the  peasant  girl  insisted  upon  taking  her, 
whether  or  no,  counting  upon  the  singer's  success 
and  the  sympathy  of  the  applause  to  break  down 
the  last  objections.  After  a  long  resistance  the 
poor  little  girl  ended  by  consenting  to  skip  out 
secretly  for  that  one  night  behind  the  back  of  her 
mother,  making  use  of  lies  and  humiliating  com- 
plications. She  had  given  way  through  fear  and 
weakness,  perhaps  also  with  the  hope  of  getting 
her  first  impression  back  again  at  the  theatre  — 
that  mirage  which  had  vanished;  of  lighting  up 
again,  in  fact,  that  flame  of  love  which  was  so 
desperately  quenched. 


The  Skating- Ri7ik.  291 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   SKATING-RINK. 

Where  was  it?  Whither  was  she  being  taken? 
The  cab  had  been  going  for  a  long,  long  time ; 
seated  at  her  side,  Audiberte  had  been  holding  her 
hands,  reassuring  her  and  talking  to  her  with  a  fe- 
verish violence.  She  did  not  look  at  anything, 
she  did  not  hear  anything ;  the  noise  of  the  wheels, 
the  sharp  tones  of  that  shrill  little  voice  had  no 
sense  for  her  mind  whatever ;  nor  did  the  streets 
and  boulevards  and  house-fronts  seem  to  her  to 
wear  their  usual  aspect,  but  were  discolored  by  the 
lively  emotion  within,  as  if  she  were  looking  at 
them  out  of  the  carriage  in  a  funeral  or  marriage 
procession. 

Finally  they  brought  up  with  a  jerk  and  stopped 
before  a  wide  pavement  inundated  by  white  light 
which  carved  the  crowd  of  people  swarming  here 
into  black  sharp-cut  shadows.  At  the  entrance 
of  the  large  corridor  was  a  wicket  for  the  tickets, 
then  a  double  door  of  red  velvet,  and  right  upon 
that  a  hall,  an  enormous  hall,  which  with  its  nave 
and  its  side  aisles  and  the  stucco  on  its  high  walls, 
recalled  to  her  an  Anglican  church  which  she  had 
once  visited  on  the  occasion  of  a  marriage.     Only 


292  Numa  Roumestan, 

in  this  case  the  walls  were  covered  with  placards 
and  advertisements  in  every  color,  setting  forth  the 
virtues  of  pith  helmets,  shirts  made  to  measure  for 
four  francs  and  a  half  and  announcements  of  cloth- 
ing-shops, alternating  with  the  portrait  of  the  tabor- 
player,  whose  biography  one  could  hear  cried  in 
that  voice  of  a  steam-valve  used  by  programme- 
sellers.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  a  stunning 
noise  in  which  the  murmur  of  the  circulating 
mob,  the  humming  of  the  tops  on  the  cloth  of  the 
English  billiard  tables,  calls  for  drinks,  snatches 
of  music  broken  by  patriotic  gunshots  coming 
from  the  back  of  the  hall,  were  dominated  by  a 
constant  noise  of  roller  skates  going  and  coming 
across  a  broad  asphalted  space  surrounded  by 
balustrades,  the  centre  of  a  perfect  storm  of  crush 
hats  and  bonnets  of  the  time  of  the  Directory. 

Hortense  walked  behind  the  Provengal  girl, 
anxious  and  frightened,  now  turning  pale  and  now 
turning  red  beneath  her  veil,  following  her  with 
difficulty  through  a  perfect  labyrinth  of  little  round 
tables  at  which  women  were  seated  two  and  two 
drinking,  their  elbows  on  the  table,  cigarettes  in 
their  mouths  and  their  knees  up,  overwhelmed  with 
a  look  of  boredom.  Against  the  wall  from  point  to 
point  stood  crowded  counters  and  behind  each  was 
a  girl  standing  erect,  her  eyes  blackened  with  kohl, 
her  mouth  red  as  blood  and  little  flashes  of  steel 
coming  from  a  bang  of  black  or  russet  hair  plastered 
over  her  brow.  And  this  white  and  black  of 
painted  skin,  this  smile  with  its  painted  vermilion- 
point,  were  to  be  found  on  all  the  women,  as  if  it 


The  Skating- Rink,  293 

were  a  livery  belonging  to  nocturnal  and  pallid 
apparitions  which  all  were  forced  to  wear. 

Sinister  also  was  the  slow  strolling  of  the  men 
who  elbowed  their  way  in  an  insolent  and  brutal 
manner  between  the  tables,  puffing  the  smoke  of 
their  thick  cigars  right  and  left  with  the  insult  of 
their  marketing  as  they  pushed  about  to  look  as 
closely  as  possible  at  the  wares.  And  what  gave 
it  still  more  the  impression  of  a  market  was  the 
cosmopolite  public  talking  all  kinds  of  French,  a 
hotel  public  which  had  just  arrived  and  run  into 
the  place  in  their  travelling  clothes  —  Scotch  bon- 
nets, striped  jackets,  tweeds  still  full  of  the  fog  of 
the  Channel  and  Muscovite  furs  thawing  fast  in  the 
Paris  air.  And  there  were  the  long  black  beards 
and  insolent  airs  of  people  from  the  banks  of  the 
Spree  covering  satyr  grins  and  Tartar  mugs ;  there 
too  were  Turkish  fezzes  surmounting  coats  without 
any  collars,  negroes  in  full  evening  dress  gleaming 
like  the  silk  of  their  tall  hats  and  little  Japanese 
men  dressed  like  Europeans,  dapper  and  correct, 
like  tailors'  advertisements  fallen  into  the  fire. 

**  Boii  Diotc  !  How  ugly  he  is,"  said  Audiberte 
suddenly,  as  they  passed  a  very  solemn  Chinaman 
with  his  long  pigtail  hanging  down  the  back  of 
his  blue  gown ;  or  else  she  would  stop  and,  nudg- 
ing her  companion  with  her  elbow,  cry  **  V^ !  vi ! 
see  the  bride  !  "  and  show  her  some  woman  dressed 
entirely  in  white  lounging  on  two  chairs  —  one  of 
which  supported  her  white  satin  shoes  with  silver 
heels  —  the  waist  of  her  dress  wide  open,  the  train 
of  her  gown  all  which-way,  and  orange  flowers  fas- 


294  Numa  Rotimestan, 

tening  the  lace  of  a  short  mantilla  In  her  hair. 
Then,  suddenly  scandalized  by  certain  words  which 
gave  her  the  clue  to  these  very  chance  bridal 
flowers,  the  Provenc^al  girl  would  add  in  a  myste- 
rious manner :  "  A  regular  snake,  you  know !  " 
Then  suddenly,  in  order  to  drag  Hortense  away 
from  a  bad  example,  she  would  hurry  her  toward 
the  central  part  of  the  building  where  a  theatre 
rose  far  in  the  back,  occupying  the  same  place  as 
the  choir  in  a  church.  The  stage  was  there  under 
electric  flames  which  came  and  went  in  two  big' 
glass  spheres  away  up  in  the  ceiling,  like  two 
gleaming,  starry  eyes  of  an  Eternal  Father  in  a 
book  of  holy  images. 

Here  they  could  compose  themselves  after  the 
tumultuous  wickedness  of  the  lobbies.  Families 
of  little  citizens,  the  shopkeepers  of  the  quarter, 
filled  the  orchestra  stalls.  There  were  few  women. 
It  might  have  been  possible  to  believe  oneself  in 
some  kind  of  an  auditorium,  were  it  not  for  the 
horrible  noise  all  about,  which  was  always  being 
overborne  by  the  regular  rolling  of  the  skaters  on 
the  asphalt  floor,  drowning  even  the  brass  instru- 
ments and  the  drums  of  the  orchestra,  so  that 
really  on  the  boards  all  that  was  possible  was 
the  dumb-show  of  living  pictures. 

As  they  seated  themselves  the  curtain  went 
down  on  a  patriotic  scene:  an  enormous  Belfort 
lion  made  of  cardboard,  surrounded  by  soldiers  in 
triumphant  poses  on  crumbling  ramparts,  their 
military  caps  stuck  on  the  ends  of  their  guns, 
gesticulating  to  the  measure  of  the  Marseillaise, 


The  Skating-Rink,  295 

which  nobody  could  hear.  This  performance  and 
this  wild  excitement  stimulated  the  Provencal 
girl;  her  eyes  were  bulging  in  her  head;  as  she 
found  a  place  for  Hortense  she  exclaimed : 

''  Que !  we  are  nice  here,  que !  But  do  haul 
up  youi:  veil  —  don't  tremble  so,  there  is  no  danger 
wid  me !  " 

The  young  girl  did  not  answer,  still  over- 
whelmed by  the  impression  of  that  slow,  insulting 
crowd  of  strollers  where  she  had  been  confounded 
with  the  rest,  among  all  those  livid  masks  of 
women.  And  behold,  right  in  front  of  her,  she 
found  those  horrible  masks  once  more,  with  their 
blood-stained  lips  —  found  them  in  the  grimacing 
faces  of  two  clowns  in  tights  who  were  dislocating 
all  their  joints,  a  bell  in  each  hand  with  which  they 
were  sounding  out,  whilst  they  frolicked  about,  an 
air  from  ''Martha"  —  a  veritable  music  of  the 
gnomes,  formless  and  stuttering,  very  much  in  its 
place  in  the  musical  babel  of  the  skating-rink. 
Then  the  curtain  fell  again,  and  for  the  tenth  time 
the  peasant  girl  stood  up  and  sat  down  again, 
fussed  about,  fixed  her  head-dress  anew  and  sud- 
denly exclaimed,  as  she  looked  down  the  pro- 
gramme :  "  There,  the  Cordova  Mount  —  the 
summer  locusts,  the  farandole  —  there,  there,  it  is 
beginning,  v^y  ve !'' 

Rising  once  more,  the  curtain  displayed  upon 
the  background  of  the  scenery  a  lilac  mountain, 
up  which  mounted  buildings  of  stone  most  weird 
in  construction,  partly  castle,  partly  mosque, 
here  a  minaret  and  there  a  terrace ;  they  rose  in 


296  Ntima  Roumestan, 

oglval  arches,  crenelations  and  Moorish  work,  with 
aloes  and  palm-trees  of  zinc  rising  at  the  foot  of 
towers  sharply  cut  against  the  indigo  blue  of  a 
very  crude  sky.  One  may  see  just  such  absurd 
architecture  in  the  suburbs  of  Paris  among  villas 
inhabited  by  newly  enriched  merchants.  In  spite 
of  all,  in  spite  of  the  crying  tones  of  the  slopes 
blossoming  with  thyme  and  exotic  plants  placed 
there  by  mistake  because  of  the  word  "■  Cordova," 
Hortense  was  rather  embarrassed  at  sight  of  that 
landscape  which  held  for  her  the  most  delightful- 
recollections.  And  that  palace  of  the  Turk  perched 
upon  the  mountain  all  rose-colored  porphyry,  and 
that  reconstructed  castle,  really  did  seem  to  her 
the  realization  of  her  dreams,  but  quite  grotesque 
and  overdone,  as  it  happens  when  one's  dream  is 
about  to  slip  into  the  oppression  of  a  nightmare. 

At  a  signal  from  the  orchestra  and  from  an 
electric  jet,  long  devil's-darning-needles,  person- 
ated by  girls  in  an  undress  of  tightly-fitting  silks, 
a  sort  of  emerald-green  tights,  rushed  upon  the 
stage  waving  their  long  membranous  wings  and 
whirling  their  wooden  rattles. 

"What!  those  are  locusts?  Not  much!"  said 
the  Provencal  girl  indignantly. 

Already  they  had  arranged  themselves  in  a  half 
circle,  like  a  crescent-shaped  mass  of  seaweed,  all 
the  time  whirling  their  rattles,  which  sounded  very 
distinctly  now,  because  the  row  made  by  the 
parlor  skates  was  softened  and  for  a  moment  the 
noise  of  the  lobby  was  hushed  in  a  close  wall  of 
heads  leaning  toward  the  stage,  their  eyes  glaring 


The  Skating- Rink,  297 

under  every  kind  of  head-dress  in  the  world. 
The  wretchedness  which  tore  Hortense's  heart 
grew  deeper  when  she  heard  coming,  at  first  from 
afar  and  gradually  increasing,  the  low  sound  of 
the  tabor. 

She  would  have  liked  to  flee  in  order  not  to 
have  seen  what  was  coming.  In  its  turn  the 
shepherd's  pipe  sounded  out  its  high  notes  and 
the  farandole,  raising  under  the  cadence  of  its 
regular  steps  a  thick  dust  the  color  of  the  earth, 
unrolled  itself  with  all  the  fantastic  costumes  imasf- 
inable,  short  skirts  meant  to  lure  the  eye,  red 
stockings  with  gold  borders,  spangled  waists,  head- 
dresses of  Arab  coins,  of  Indian  scarfs,  of  Italian 
kerchiefs  or  those  from  Brittany  or  Caux,  all  worn 
with  a  fine  Parisian  disdain  of  truth  to  locality. 

Behind  them,  pushing  forward  on  his  knee  a 
tabor  covered  with  gold  paper,  came  the  great 
troubadour  of  the  placards  —  his  legs  incased 
in  tights,  one  leg  yellow  with  a  blue  shoe  on 
and  one  leg  blue  shod  in  yellow,  with  his  satin 
waistcoat  covered  with  puffs  and  his  crenelated 
velvet  cap  overshadowing  a  countenance  which 
remained  quite  brown  despite  cosmetics,  and  of 
which  nothing  could  be  seen  well  except  a  big 
moustache  stiffened  with  Hungarian  pomade. 

*'  Ah  !  "  said  Audiberte  in  perfect  ecstasy. 

When  the  farandole  had  taken  up  its  place  on 
the  two  sides  of  the  stage  in  front  of  the  locusts 
with  their  big  wings,  the  troubadour,  standing 
alone  in  the  centre,  saluted  with  an  air  of  assur- 
ance and  victory  under  the  glaring  eyes  of  the 


298  Numa  Roumesfan, 

Eternal   Father   whose    rays    poured    a   luminous 
hoarfrost  upon  his  coat. 

The  aubade  began,  rustic  and  shrill,  yet  it  went 
forward  into  the  halls  hardly  farther  than  the  foot- 
lights ;  there  it  lived  a  very  short  life,  fighting  for  a 
moment  with  the  flamboyant  banners  on  the  ceiling 
and  the  columns  of  the  enormous  interior,  and  then 
fell  flat  into  a  great  and  bored  silence.  The  public 
looked  on  without  the  slightest  comprehension. 
Valmajour  began  another  piece,  which  at  the  first 
sounds  was  received  with  laughter,  murmurs  and' 
cat-calls.     Audiberte  took  Hortense's  hand: 

''  Listen  !  that 's  the  cabal !  " 

At  this  point  the  cabal  consisted  merely  of  a  few 
**  Heh  !  louder!"  and  of  jokes  of  this  sort,  which 
were  called  out  by  a  husky  voice  belonging  to 
some  low  woman  on  seeing  the  complicated  dumb- 
show  that  Valmajour  employed :  "  Oh,  give  us  a 
rest,  you  chump  !  " 

Then  the  rink  took  up  again  its  sound  of  parlor 
skates  and  of  English  billiards  and  its  ambulatory 
marketing,  overwhelming  the  shepherd's  pipe  and 
the  tabor  which  the  musician  insisted  upon  using 
until  the  very  end  of  the  aubade.  After  this  he 
saluted  again,  marched  forward  toward  the  foot- 
lights, always  accompanied  by  that  mysterious 
grand  air  which  never  quitted  him.  His  lips 
could  be  seen  moving  and  a  few  words  came  here 
and  there  into  ear-shot:  "It  came  to  me  all  of  a 
sudden  .  .  .  one  hole  .  .  .  three  holes  .  .  .  the 
good  God's  biri^d  .  .  ." 

His  despairing  gesture  was  understood  by  the 


The  Skating- Rink,  299 

orchestra  and  gave  the  signal  for  a  ballet  in  which 
the  locusts  twined  themselves  about  the  odaHsques 
from  Caux  and  formed  plastic  poses,  undulatory 
and  lascivious  dances  beneath  Bengal  flames 
which  threw  their  rainbow  light  as  far  as  the 
pointed  shoes  of  the  troubadour,  who  continued 
his  dumb-show  with  the  tabor  in  front  of  the 
castle  of  his  ancestors  in  a  great  glory  and 
apotheosis. 

There  lay  the  romance  of  poor  little  Hortense ! 
That  is  what  Paris  had  made  of  it. 

The  clear  bell  of  the  old  clock  hanging  on 
the  wall  of  her  chamber  sounded  one  as  Hor- 
tense roused  herself  from  the  arm-chair  into  which 
she  had  fallen  utterly  crushed  when  she  entered. 
She  looked  around  her  gentle  maiden's  nest, 
warm  with  the  reassuring  gleams  of  a  dying  fire 
and  of  an  expiring  night-lamp. 

"What  am  I  doing  here?  Why  did  I  not  go 
to  bed?" 

She  could  not  remember  at  first  what  had  hap- 
pened, only  feeling  a  complete  sickness  through 
her  entire  being  and  in  her  head  a  noise  which 
made  it  ache.  She  stood  up  and  walked  a  step 
or  two  before  she  perceived  that  she  still  wore 
her  hat  and  mantle;  then  all  came  back  to  her. 
She  remembered  then  their  departure  after  the 
curtain  fell,  their  return  through  the  hideous 
market,  more  brilliantly  illumined  than  before, 
among  drunken  book-makers  fighting  with  each 
other  in  front  of  a  counter,  through  cynical  voices 


300  Numa  Roumestan, 

whispering  a  sum  of  money  as  she  passed  —  and 
then  the  scene  at  the  exit,  with  Audiberte  who 
wished  her  to  come  and  felicitate  her  brother; 
then  Audiberte's  wrath  in  the  coach,  the  abuse 
which  the  creature  heaped  upon  her,  only  ended 
by  Audiberte  humiliating  herself  before  her,  and 
kissing  her  hands  for  pardon ;  all  that  and  still 
other  things  danced  through  her  memory  along 
with  the  horrible  faces  of  the  clowns,  harsh  noises 
of  bells,  cymbals  and  rattles,  and  the  rising  up  of 
many-colored  flames  about  that  ridiculous  trouba-' 
dour  to  whom  she  had  given  her  heart !  A  terror 
that  was  physical  roused  her  at  that  idea : 
**  No,  no ;  never  !  I  'd  far  rather  die  !  " 
All  of  a  sudden,  in  the  looking-glass  in  front  ot 
her,  she  caught  sight  of  a  ghost  with  hollow 
cheeks  and  narrow  shoulders  drawn  together  in 
front  with  the  gesture  of  a  person  shuddering  with 
cold.  The  spectre  looked  a  little  like  her,  but  much 
more  like  that  poor  Princess  of  Anhalt  who  had  so 
roused  her  curiosity  and  pity  at  Arvillard  that  she 
had  described  her  sad  symptoms  in  a  letter.  The 
princess  had  just  died  at  the  opening  of  winter. 

"  Why,  look  —  look  !  "  She  bent  forward,  came 
nearer  to  the  glass  and  recalled  the  inexplicable 
kindness  that  everybody  down  there  had  shown 
her,  the  fright  her  mother  evinced,  the  tenderness 
of  old  Bouchereau  at  her  departure  —  and  under- 
stood !  Now  at  last  she  knew  what  it  was,  she 
knew  the  end  of  the  game  !  It  was  here  without 
any  one  to  aid  it.  Surely  it  was  long  enough  she 
had  been  looking  for  its  coming. 


"^/  the  Products  of  the  South'.'     301 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


"Mlle.  Hortense  is  very  ill.  Madame  will 
receive  nobody." 

For  the  tenth  time  during  the  ten  days  that  had 
passed  Audiberte  had  received  the  same  answer, 
motionless  before  that  heavy-timbered  door  with 
its  knocker,  the  like  of  which  can  scarcely  be 
found  except  beneath  the  arcades  of  the  Place 
Royale,  a  door  which  once  shut  seemed  to  her  to 
refuse  forever  an  entrance  to  the  old  house  of  the 
Le  Quesnoys. 

"Very  well,"  said  she,  "I  am  not  coming  back; 
it  must  be  they  now  who  shall  call  me  back." 

In  great  agitation  she  set  out  again  through  the 
lively  turmoil  of  that  commercial  quarter,  where 
drays  laden  with  cases  and  barrels  and  iron  bars, 
noisy  and  flexible,  were  forever  passing  the  push- 
carts that  rolled  under  the  porches  and  back  into 
the  courtyards  where  the  coopers  were  nailing  up 
the  cases  for  export.  But  the  peasant  girl  was 
not  aware  of  this  infernal  row  and  of  the  rum- 
bling of  labor  which  shook  the  high  houses  to 
their  very  topmost  floors ;  in  her  venomous  head 
a  very  different  kind  of  row  was  going  on,  a 
clashing  of  brutal  thoughts  and  a  terrible  clangor 


302  Numa  Roumestmi, 

of  foiled  wishes.  So  she  set  forth,  feeling  no 
fatigue,  and  in  order  to  economize  the  'bus  fare 
crossed  on  foot  the  entire  distance  from  the  Marais 
to  Abbaye-Montmartre  Street. 

After  a  fierce  and  lively  peregrination  from  one 
lodging  to  the  other,  hotels  and  furnished  apart- 
ments of  all  kinds,  from  which  they  were  expelled 
each  time  on  account  of  the  tabor-playing,  they 
had  just  recently  made  shipwreck  in  that  quarter. 
It  was  a  new  house  which  had  allured,  at  the 
cheap  prices  for  housewarmers,  a  temporary  horde 
of  girls,  Bohemians  and  business  agents,  and  those 
families  of  adventurers  such  as  one  sees  at  the 
seaports,  a  floating  population  which  shows  its 
lack  of  work  on  the  balconies,  watching  arrivals 
and  departures  in  hopes  that  there  may  be  some- 
thing to  be  gained  for  them  in  the  flood.  Fortune 
is  here  the  flood  on  which  they  cast  their  watchful 
eyes. 

The  rent  was  very  high  for  them  to  pay,  espe- 
cially now  that  the  skating-rink  had  failed  and  it 
was  necessary  to  sue  upon  government  stamped 
paper  for  the  price  of  Valmajour's  few  appear- 
ances. But  the  tabor  did  not  bother  anybody  in 
that  freshly -painted  barrack  whose  door  was  open 
at  every  hour  of  the  night  for  the  different  crooked 
businesses  of  the  tenants — not  to  speak  of  all  the 
quarrels  and  rows  that  were  going  on.  On  the 
contrary,  it  was  the  tabor-player  who  was  both- 
ered. The  advertising  on  placards,  the  many- 
colored  tights  and  his  fine  moustaches  had  aroused 
perilous  interest  among  the  ladies  of  the  skating- 


*'  ^/  the  Products  of  the  Souths    303 

rink  less  coy  than  that  prude  of  a  girl  down  there 
in  the  Marais.  He  was  acquainted  with  actors 
at  the  Batignolles,  all  that  sweet-scented  crowd 
which  met  in  a  pot-house  on  the  Boulevard  Roche- 
chouart  called  the  Straw-Lair.  This  same  Straw- 
Lair,  where  people  passed  their  time  in  loafing 
fatly,  playing  cards,  drinking  lager  beer  and  pass- 
ing from  one  to  the  other  the  scandal  of  the  little 
theatres  and  the  lowest  class  of  gallantry,  was  the 
enemy  and  the  horror  of  Audiberte.  It  was  the 
cause  of  savage  rages,  under  the  stormy  blows  of 
which  the  two  Southerners  bent  their  backs  as  under 
a  tempest  in  the  tropics,  merely  revenging  them- 
selves by  cursing  their  tyrant  in  a  green  skirt  and 
talking  about  her  in  that  mysterious  and  hateful 
tone  which  schoolboys  and  servants  use:  "What 
did  she  say?  how  much  did  she  give  you?"  and 
playing  into  each  other's  hands  in  order  to  slip 
away  behind  her  back.  Audiberte  knew  this  well 
and  watched  them ;  she  did  her  business  outside 
quickly,  impatient  to  get  home;  and  particularly 
was  it  so  that  day,  because  she  had  left  them 
early  in  the  morning.  As  she  ascended  the  stairs 
she  stopped  a  moment,  hearing  neither  tabor  nor 
shepherd's  pipe. 

"  Oh,  the  beggarly  wretch,  he  's  off  again  to  his 
Straw-Lair! " 

But  as  she  came  in  at  the  door  her  father  ran 
up  to  her  and  headed  the  explosion  off. 

"Now  don't  squeal,  somebody's  come  to  visit 
you;  a  gentleman  from  the  Munistry!'' 

The   gentleman  was  waiting  in   the  drawing- 


304  Numa  Roumestan, 

room ;  for,  as  it  always  happens  in  these  build- 
ings, cheaply  built  and  made  by  machinery,  with 
every  room  on  each  floor  exactly  the  same,  one 
above  the  other,  they  too  had  a  drawing-room 
hung  with  a  cheap  paper,  creamy  and  waffled  into 
patterns  till  it  looked  like  a  dish  of  beaten  eggs, 
a  drawing-room  which  made  the  peasant  girl  a 
very  proud  woman.  Mejean  was  passing  in  re- 
view most  compassionately  the  Provencal  furni- 
ture scattered  about  this  dentist's  waiting-room, 
full  of  the  crude  light  from  two  windows  guilt- 
less of  curtains  —  the  coco  and  the  inoco  (tumbler- 
holder  and  lamp-holder),  the  kneading-trough, 
the  bread-basket  much  banged  about  by  house- 
movings  and  by  travel  —  these  showed  their  rural 
rustiness  alongside  of  the  cheap  gilding  and  wall 
paintings.  The  haughty  profile  of  Audiberte, 
very  pure  in  its  lines,  surmounted  by  her  Sunday 
head-dress,  which  seemed  just  as  out-of-place  in 
the  fifth  story  of  a  Parisian  apartment  house, 
completed  the  feeling  of  pity  which  he  had  con- 
cerning these  victims  of  Roumestan ;  and  so  he 
introduced  very  gently  the  cause  of  his  visit. 

The  Minister,  wishing  to  spare  the  Valmajours 
new  misfortunes,  for  which  up  to  a  certain  point 
he  felt  himself  responsible,  sent  them  five  thou- 
sand francs  to  pay  for  their  losses  in  having 
changed  their  home  and  to  carry  them  back  again 
to  their  own  place.  He  took  the  bills  from  his 
purse  and  laid  them  on  the  old  dark  kneading- 
trou2:h  of  nutwood. 

"So,  then,  we'll   have   to  leave .^"  asked  the 


''At  the  Products  of  the  Souths    305 

peasant  girl  without  budging  an  inch  and  ponder- 
ing a  while. 

"The  Minister  desires  that  you  should  go  as 
soon  as  possible;  he  is  anxious  to  know  that  you 
have  returned  to  your  home  as  happy  as  you  were 
before." 

Old  Valmajour  cast  his  eye  around  at  the  bank- 
notes : 

"  As  for  me,  that  seems  reasonable  enough  — • 
de  qii^  n  r.n  disesf 

But  she  would  not  say  anything  and  waited  for 
the  sequel,  which  Mejean  introduced  by  twisting 
and  turning  his  purse: 

"And  to  those  five  thousand  francs  we  will  add 
five  thousand  more  which  are  here,  in  order  to 
get  back  again  —  to  get  back  again  —  " 

His  emotion  choked  him.  Cruel  was  the  com- 
mission which  Rosalie  had  given  him.  Ah,  how 
often  it  costs  a  lot  to  be  considered  a  quiet- 
loving,  strong  man;  much  more  is  demanded 
of  such  a  one  than  of  other  people !  Then  he 
added  very  rapidly  —  "the  photograph  of  Mile. 
Le  Quesnoy. " 

"  At  last !  now  we  have  got  to  it.  The  photo- 
graph—  didn't  I  know  it,  by  heavens .-* "  At  every 
word  she  bounded  up  like  a  goat.  "And  so  you 
really  believe  that  you  can  make  us  come  from 
the  other  end  of  France,  that  you  can  promise 
everything  to  us  —  to  us  who  never  asked  for 
anything  —  and  then  that  you  can  put  us  out 
of  doors  like  so  many  dogs  who  have  done  their 
worst    and    left    their    dirt    everywhere.?     Take 


3o6  Numa  Roumestan. 

back  your  money,  gentleman !  You  can  be  dead 
sure  that  we  sha'n't  leave,  and  you  can  say 
so  there,  and  also  that  the  photograph  won't 
be  returned  to  them!  That 's  a  paper  and  a 
proof,  that  is.  I  keep  it  safe  in  my  little  bag; 
it  never  leaves  me  and  I  shall  show  it  about 
through  Paris  and  what  is  written  upon  it,  so  that 
all  the  world  may  know  that  all  those  Roume- 
stans  are  no  better  than  a  family  of  liars  —  of 
liars  —  " 

She  was  foaming  with  rage. 

"Mile.  Le  Quesnoy  is  very,  very  ill,"  said 
Mejean,  with  great  solemnity. 

''Aval!'' 

"  She  is  leaving  Paris,  and  in  all  probability 
will  never  return  — alive!  " 

Audiberte  said  not  a  word,  but  the  silent  laugh 
of  her  eyes,  the  implacable  no  which  was  written 
upon  her  classic  brow,  on  which  the  hair  grew 
low  beneath  the  little  lace  head-dress,  were  suffi- 
cient to  warrant  the  firmness  of  her  refusal.  Then 
a  temptation  seized  Mejean  to  throw  himself  upon 
her,  tear  the  little  Indian  bag  from  her  girdle  and 
fly  with  it ;  still,  he  restrained  himself,  attempted 
a  few  useless  expostulations,  and  then,  quivering 
with  rage  likewise,  he  said,  "You  will  repent  of 
this,"  and  to  the  great  regret  of  Father  Valmajour, 
left  the  house. 

"  Look  out,  little  girl,  you  are  going  to  bring 
us  into  some  misfortune  !  " 

"Not  much  !  It 's  them  that  we  '11  give  trouble 
to  J  I  am  going  to  ask  the  advice  of  Guilloche." 


''  Ai  the  Products  of  the  Souths    307 

GUILLOCHE,  CONTENTIEUX. 

Behind  the  yellow  card  bearing  those  two 
words,  fastened  on  the  door  which  was  opposite 
their  own,  was  one  of  those  terrible  business  men 
whose  entire  instalment  consists  of  an  enormous 
leather  portfolio  containing  the  minutes  and 
notes  of  rancid  lawsuits,  sheets  of  white  paper  for 
secret  denunciations  and  begging  letters,  bits  of 
pie-crust,  a  false  beard  and  sometimes  even  a 
hammer  with  which  to  strike  milkwomen  dead, 
as  was  seen  recently  in  a  famous  lawsuit.  This 
type  of  man,  of  whom  many  exist  in  Paris,  would 
not  be  worthy  of  a  single  line  if  said  Guilloche, 
a  name  which  was  as  good  as  a  signboard  when 
one  considered  his  countenance  divided  up  into 
a  thousand  little  symmetrical  wrinkles,  had  not 
added  to  his  profession  an  entirely  new  and  char- 
acteristic department. 

Guilloche  did  the  business  of  penalties  for 
schoolboys  and  collegians.  A  poor  devil  of  an 
usher,  when  the  classes  came  out  from  recitation, 
went  about  collecting  the  penalties  in  the  way  of 
copies  to  be  turned  in.  He  stayed  awake  far  into 
the  night  copying  lines  of  the  ^neid  or  the 
various  forms  of  the  Greek  verb  luo.  When  there 
was  lack  of  regular  business  Guilloche,  who  was  a 
graduate  of  college,  harnessed  himself  up  for  this 
original  work,  which  he  found  fairly  profitable. 

Audiberte's  matter  having  been  explained  to 
him,  he  declared  that  it  was  excellent.  The 
Minister  might  be  legally  held  up  and  the  news- 


3o3  Numa  Roumestan. 

papers  might  be  made  to  come  down ;  the  photo- 
graph alone  was  worth  a  mine  of  gold;  only  it 
was  necessary  to  use  time  to  go  hither  and  thither 
and  he  must  have  advances  of  money  which  must 
be  paid  down  in  good  coin ;  as  for  the  Puyfourcat 
inheritance,  that  seemed  to  him  a  pure  Fata  Mor- 
gana, a  dictum  which  mortified  terribly  the  peasant 
girl's  love  of  lucre  already  so  terribly  tried,  all 
the  more  because  Valmajour,  who  had  been  much 
asked  to  swell  drawing-rooms  during  the  first 
winter,  no  longer  set  foot  in  a  single  house  of  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germoyne. 

"  So  much  the  worse !  I  will  work  the  harder, 
I  will  economize  —  zou!  " 

That  energetic  little  Arlesian  head-dress  flew 
about  in  the  great  new  building,  ran  up  and  down 
stairs,  carrying  from  story  to  story  her  tale  of 
adventure  wid  the  Menister.  She  excited  herself, 
squealed,  pounced  about,  and  then  in  a  myste-" 
rious  voice  would  say:  "And  thin  there's  the 
photograph,"  and  with  a  furtive  and  sidelong 
glance,  such  as  the  sellers  of  photographs  in  the 
arcades  employ  when  old  libertines  call  for  tights, 
she  would  show  the  picture : 

"  A  pretty  girl,  at  any  rate !  And  you  have  read 
what  is  written  there  underneath  ?  " 

This  kind  of  thing  happened  in  the  bosom  of 
the  temporary  families  and  with  the  roller-skat- 
ing ladies  of  the  rink  or  at  the  Straw-Lair  — 
ladies  whom  she  pompously  called  Mme.  Malvina 
or  Mme.  EloTse,  being  deeply  impressed  by  their 
velvet  skirts,  their  chemises  edged  with  holes  for 


'^  At  the  Products  of  the  Souths    309 

ribbons  and  all  the  implements  of  their  business, 
without  bothering  herself  otherwise  as  to  what 
that  business  might  be.  And  thus  the  picture  of 
this  lovely  creature,  so  distinguished  and  deli- 
cate, passed  through  these  critical  and  curious 
defilements;  they  picked  her  to  pieces;  they 
read  laughing  the  silly  avowal  of  love,  until 
the  Provencal  girl  took  her  treasure  back  again 
and  thrust  it  into  the  mouth  of  her  money-bag 
with  a  furious  gesture  and  in  a  strangled  voice 
exclaimed : 

"  Well,  I  guess  we  have  got  them  with  that !  " 
Zott!  off  she  flew  to  the  bailiff  —  the  bailiff  for 
the  affair  of  the  skating-rink,  the  bailiff  used  to 
hunt  Cadaillac,  the  bailiff  for  Roumestan.  And  as 
if  that  were  not  sufficient  for  her  quarrelsome  dis- 
position, she  had  a  host  of  troubles  with  janitors, 
the  unending  fight  about  the  tabor-playing,  which 
ended  this  time  in  the  exile  of  Valmajour  to  one 
of  those  basements  leased  by  a  wine  merchant 
where  the  sounding  of  hunting-horns  alternate 
with  lessons  in  kicking  and  boxing.  From  that 
time  forth  it  was  in  this  cellar,  by  the  light  of 
a  gas  jet  which  cost  them  so  much  per  hour,  and 
while  looking  about  at  the  vests  and  fencing- 
gloves  and  copper  horns  hung  on  the  wall,  that 
the  tabor-player  passed  his  hours  of  exercise,  pale 
and  lonely  like  a  captive,  sending  forth  from 
below  the  pavement  all  kinds  of  variations  on  the 
shepherd's  pipe,  not  at  all  unlike  the  mournful 
and  piercing  notes  of  a  baker's  cricket. 

One  day  Audiberte  received  an   invitation  to 


3IO  Numa  Roumestan, 

call  upon  the  Commissary  of  Police  in  her  quar- 
ter. She  ran  thither  quickly,  quite  certain  that 
it  referred  to  her  cousin  Puyfourcat,  and  entered 
smiling  with  her  head-dress  tossing;  but  after  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  she  crept  out,  overwhelmed 
by  a  very  peasant-like  horror  of  the  policeman, 
who,  at  his  very  first  word,  had  forced  her  to 
deliver  up  the  photograph  and  sign  a  receipt  for 
ten  thousand  francs  in  which  she  absolutely  re- 
nounced all  and  any  suits  at  law.  All  the  same 
she  obstinately  refused  to  leave,  insisted  upon 
believing  in  the  genius  of  her  brother  and  kept 
always  alive  in  the  depths  of  her  memory  the 
delicious  astonishment  caused  one  winter  evening 
by  that  long  file  of  carriages  passing  through 
the  courtyard  of  the  Ministry,  where  all  the 
windows  were  alight. 

When  she  came  back  she  notified  her  two  men, 
who  were  much  more  frightened  than  she  was, 
that  not  another  word  was  to  be  spoken  about  that 
business;  but  she  never  piped  a  word  about  the 
money.  Guilloche,  who  suspected  that  there  was 
some  money,  employed  every  means  in  his  power 
to  get  a  portion  of  it,  and"  having  obtained  only 
the  slenderest  commission,  felt  a  frightful  rancor 
in  regard  to  the  Valmajours. 

"Well,"  said  he  one  morning  to  Audiberte 
while  she  was  brushing  on  the  staircase  the  finest 
clothes  belonging  to  the  musician,  who  was  still 
in  bed,  "well,  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  at  last. 
He  is  dead!" 

"Who  is  dead.?" 


^^  At  the  Products  of  the  Souths    311 

"  Why,  Puyfourcat,  your  cousin ;  it  is  in  the 
paper. " 

She  gave  a  screech,  rushed  into  the  apartment, 
calling  aloud  and  almost  in  tears : 

"Father!  Brother!  Hurry  quick,  the  inheri- 
tance ! " 

As  all  of  them  clustered  terribly  moved  and 
panting  in  a  circle  about  that  infernal  fellow 
Guilloche,  the  latter  slowly  unfolded  the  Journal 
Officiel  and  in  a  very  leisurely  manner  read  to 
them  as  follows: 

"  'On  this  first  day  of  October  1876,  the  Court 
at  Mostaganem  has  ordered  the  publication  and 
advertisement  of  the  following  inheritances  at  the 
order  of  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior.  — Popelino 
(Louis),  day-laborer — '  No,  it  isn't  that  one 
—     '  Puyfourcat  (Dosithee)  —  '  " 

"Yes,  that  's  him,"  said  Audiberte. 

The  old  bird  thought  it  was  necessary  to  wipe 
his  eyes  a  bit. 

"  Peca'ire!     Poor  Dosithee  —  !  " 

" ■  died  at  Mostaganem  the  14th  of  January, 

1874,    born   at    Valmajour   in   the    commune   of 
Aps  — " 

In  her  eagerness  and  impatience  the  peasant 
girl  asked : 

"How  much  is  it?" 

"  Three  francs,  thirty-five  cintimes ! "  cried 
Guilloche  in  the  voice  of  a  fruit-peddler;  and 
leaving  in  their  hands  the  paper,  in  order  that 
they  might  thoroughly  verify  the  disappointment 
which  had  come  to  them,  he  flew  off  with  a  roar  of 


312  Numa  RoM'mesta7i, 

laughter  which  seemed  infectious,  for  it  rang 
from  story  to  story  down  into  the  street  and 
delighted  all  that  great  big  village  called  Mont- 
martre,  where  the  legend  of  the  Valmajours* 
inheritance  had  been  widely  circulated. 

The  inheritance  from  Puyfourcat,  only  three 
francs  thirty-five!  Audiberte  pretended  to  laugh 
at  it  harder  than  the  others,  but  the  frightful 
desire  for  vengeance  upon  the  Roumestans,  who 
were  in  her  eyes  responsible  for  all  their  troubles,, 
burned  within  her  and  now  only  increased  in 
fury  and  looked  about  for  some  pretext  or  means, 
for  the  first  weapon  that  lay  to  hand. 

Most  singular  was  the  countenance  of  papa 
during  this  disaster.  The  while  his  daughter 
pined  away  with  weariness  and  fury,  and  the 
captive  musician  became  paler  with  every  day 
passed  in  his  cellar,  papa,  expanding  like  a  rose, 
careless  of  what  happened,  did  not  even  show  his 
old  professional  envy  and  jealousy;  he  seemed  to 
have  arranged  some  quiet  existence  for  himself 
outside  and  away  from  his  family.  Hardly  had 
he  stowed  away  the  last  mouthful  of  breakfast  than 
off  he  went ;  and  sometimes  in  the  morning,  when 
she  was  brushing  his  clothes,  she  noticed  that  a 
dried  fig  or  a  prune  or  some  preserve  or  othar 
would  fall  out  of  his  pockets,  and  when  she  asked 
how  they  came  there,  the  old  fellow  had  one  story 
or  another  for  an  explanation. 

He  had  met  a  peasant  woman  from  their  country 
in  the  street,  or  he  had  run  across  a  man  from 
down  there  who  was  coming  to  see  them. 


"^/  the  Products  of  the  Souths     313 

Audiberte  tossed  her  head:  '^ Avai  !  Wait 
till  I  follow  you  once!" 

The  truth  was  that  while  strolling  about  Paris 
the  old  man  had  discovered  in  the  St.  Denis 
quarter  a  big  shop  of  food-stuffs,  where  he  had 
entered,  lured  by  the  sign  and  by  the  temptations 
of  the  exotic  shop-front,  which  was  full  of  colored 
fruits  and  of  silver  and  painted  papers;  it  made 
a  brilliant  bit  of  color  in  the  foggy,  populous 
street.  This  shop,  where  he  had  ended  by  be- 
coming a  crony  and  friend  of  the  family,  was  well 
known  to  Southerners  quartered  in  Paris  and  had 
for  its  sign : 

Aux  Produits  du  Midi. 

"  At  the  products  of  the  South  "  —  never  was  a 
sign  more  truthful.  Everything  in  that  shop  was 
the  product  of  the  South,  from  the  shopkeepers, 
M.  and  Mme.  Mefre,  who  were  two  products 
of  the  Fat  South,  having  the  prominent  nose 
of  Roumestan,  the  flaring  eyes,  the  accent,  the 
phrases  and  demonstrative  welcome  of  Provence, 
down  to  their  shop-boys,  who  were  familiar  and 
called  people  by  their  first  names  and  did  not 
hesitate  in  their  guttural  voices  to  call  out  to 
the  desk :  "  I  say,  Mefre,  where  did  youse  put  the 
sausages.-*  "  — yes,  down  to  the  little  Mefre  chil- 
dren, whining  and  dirty,  who  passed  their  lives 
amid  a  constant  menace  of  being  disembowelled  or 
scalped  or  made  into  soup,  but  who  nevertheless 
kept  right  on  sticking  their  little  dirty  fingers 
into  all  the  open  barrels ;  nay,  even  to  the  buyers, 


314  Numa  Roumestan, 

gesticulating  and  gossiping  by  the  hour  together 
in  order  at  last  to  buy  a  barquette  (boat  shaped 
cake)  for  two  cents,  or  taking  their  seats  on  chairs 
in  a  circle  in  order  to  discuss  the  merits  of  garlic 
sausage  or  of  pepper  sausage.  Here  one  might 
listen  to  the  "none  the  less,  at  least,  come  now, 
other  ways"  —  the  whole  vocabulary,  in  fact,  be- 
longing to  Aunt  Portal,  exchanged  in  the  most 
noisy  voices,  whilst  the  "dear  brother"  in  a  dyed- 
over  black  coat,  a  friend  of  the  family,  haggled, 
over  some  salt  fish,  and  the  flies,  the  vast  horde 
of  flies,  drawn  hither  by  all  the  sugar  of  these 
fruits  and  the  candies  and  the  almost  Oriental 
pastries,  buzzed  and  boomed  right  in  the  middle 
of  the  winter,  kept  alive  by  that  steady  heat. 
And  when  some  busy  Parisian  grew  impatient  at 
the  attendants  all  down  at  heel  and  the  sublime 
indifference  these  shop  people  showed,  continuing 
their  gossip  from  one  counter  to  the  other  whilst 
weighing  and  doing  up  things  all  wrong,  it  was 
a  sight  to  see  how  that  Parisian  was  put  in  his 
place  by  some  remark  uttered  in  the  strongest 
country  accent : 

^^  Te !  ve !  if  you  are  in  a  hurry  the  door  is 
always  open,  you  know,  and  the  tram-cars  are 
passing  in  front  of  the  shop." 

Father  Valmajour  was  received  with  open  arms 
by  this  gang  of  compatriots.  M.  and  Mme. 
Mefre  remembered  that  they  had  seen  him  in 
the  old  time  at  the  Fair  of  Beaucaire  in  a  com- 
petition of  tabor-players. 

Between  old  people  from  the  South  that  Fair  at 


^^  Ai  the  Products  of  the  Souths    315 

Beaucaire,  now  no  more  and  existing  merely  as  a 
name,  has  remained  like  a  Masonic  bond  of 
brotherhood.  In  our  Southern  provinces  it  was 
the  fairy-tale  for  the  whole  year,  the  one  distrac- 
tion for  all  those  narrow  lives;  people  got  ready 
for  it  a  long  time  in  advance,  and  for  a  long  time 
after  they  talked  about  it.  It  formed  a  reward 
which  could  be  promised  to  wife  and  children,  and 
if  it  was  not  possible  to  take  them  along,  one 
might  bring  them  a  bit  of  Spanish  lace  or  a  toy, 
which  took  little  place  in  one's  bag.  The  Beau- 
caire Fair,  moreover,  under  pretext  of  business, 
meant  a  whole  month  or  a  fortnight  at  least  of  the 
free,  exuberant  and  unexpected  life  of  a  camp  of 
gypsies.  One  got  a  bed  here  or  there  from  the 
citizens  or  in  the  shops  or  on  top  of  desks,  or  else 
in  the  open  street  under  the  canvas  hood  of 
wagons  or  even  below  the  warm  light  of  the  July 
stars. 

O,  for  the  business  without  the  boredom  of  the 
shop,  matters  treated  while  one  dines,  or  at  the 
door  in  shirt  sleeves,  or  at  the  booths  ranged 
along  the  Pr/,  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone !  The 
river  itself  was  nothing  but  a  moving  fair-ground, 
supporting  its  boats  of  all  shapes,  its  lahuts,  lute 
shaped  boats  with  lateen  sails  which  came  from 
Aries,  Marseilles,  Barcelona,  the  Balearic  Islands, 
filled  with  wines,  anchovies,  oranges  and  cork, 
decorated  with  banners  and  standards  and  streamers 
which  sounded  in  the  fresh  wind  and  reflected 
their  colors  in  the  swiftly  flowing  water.  And 
what  a  clamor  there  was  in  that  variegated  crowd 


3i6  Numa  Roumestan, 

of  Spaniards,  Sardinians,  Greeks  in  long  tunics 
and  embroidered  slippers,  Armenians  with  their 
furred  hats  and  Turks  with  their  befrogged 
jackets,  their  fans  and  wide  trousers  of  gray 
linen !  All  these  were  jammed  together  in  the 
open-air  restaurants,  the  booths  for  children's 
toys  and  canes  and  umbrellas,  for  jewelry  and 
Oriental  pastils  and  caps.  And  then  to  think  of 
what  was  called  the  "fine  Sunday,"  that  is  to  say, 
the  first  Sunday  after  the  opening  of  the  fair  — 
the  orgies  on  the  quays  and  the  boats  and  in  the 
famous  restaurants,  such  as  La  Vignasse  or  the 
Grand  Jardin  or  the  Cafe  Thibaut !  Those  who 
have  once  seen  that  fair  have  always  felt  a  home- 
sickness for  it  to  the  end  of  their  days. 

One  felt  free  and  easy  at  the  shop  of  the  Mefre 
couple,  somewhat  as  at  the  Beaucaire  Fair.  And 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  in  its  picturesque  disorder 
the  shop  did  resemble  an  improvised  grand  fair 
for  the  sale  of  foreign  and  southern  products. 
Here  all  full  and  bending  were  sacks  of  meal  in 
a  golden  powder,  dried  peas  as  big  and  hard  as 
buck-shot  and  big  chestnuts  all  wrinkled  and 
dusty  looking,  like  little  faces  of  old  female 
charcoal-burners;  there  stood  jars  of  black  and 
green  olives  preserved  in  the  Picholini  manner, 
tin  cans  of  red  oil  with  the  taste  of  fruit,  barrels 
of  preserves  from  Apt  made  of  melon  rinds,  of 
figs,  of  quinces  and  of  apricots  —  all  the  remains 
of  fruit  from  a  fair  dropped  into  molasses.  Up 
there  on  the  shelves  among  the  salted  goods  and 
preserves,  in  a  thousand  bottles  and  a  thousand 


''At  the  Products  of  the  South!'    317, 

tin  boxes,  were  the  special  relishes  belonging  to 
each  city  —  the  shells  and  little  ships  of  Nimes, 
the  nougat  of  Montelimar,  the  ducklings  and  bis- 
cuits of  Aix  —  all  in  gilded  envelopes  ticketed 
and  signed. 

Then  there  were  the  early  vegetables,  an  out- 
pouring of  Southern  gardens  without  shadows,  in 
which  the  fruits  hanging  in  slender  green  foliage 
have  a  factitious  look  of  jewels  —  firm  looking  ju- 
jubes with  a  fine  sheen  of  newly  lacquered  walnut 
side  by  side  with  pale  azeroles,  figs  of  every  sort, 
sweet  lemons,  green  or  scarlet  peppers,  great  big 
swelling  melons,  enormous  onions  with  fiowerlike 
hearts,  muscat  grapes  with  long  berries  so  trans- 
parent that  the  flesh  of  them  trembles  like  wine  in 
a  flask,  rows  of  bananas  striped  black  and  yellow, 
regular  landslides  of  oranges  and  pomegranates 
with  their  red  gold  tones,  like  little  bombs  made  of 
red  copper  with  their  fuses  issuing  from  a  small 
crenelated  crown.  And  finally,  everywhere,  on 
the  walls  and  ceilings,  on  both  sides  of  the  door, 
in  the  tangle  of  burnt  palms,  chaplets  of  leeks  and 
onions  and  dried  carobs,  packages  of  sausages, 
bunches  of  corn  on  the  cob,  there  was  a  constant 
stream  of  warm  hues,  there  was  the  entire  sum- 
mer, there  was  the  Southern  sunshine  fastened  up 
in  boxes,  sacks  and  jars  radiating  color  out  to 
the  very  sidewalk  through  the  muddiness  of  the 
windows. 

Old  Valmajour  would  enter  this  shop  with  his 
nostrils  dilated,  quivering  and  most  excited.  This 
man,  who  refused  the   slightest  work  in  the  pres- 


3i8  Numa  Rou^nestan, 

ence  of  his  children  and  would  wipe  his  brow  for 
hours  over  a  single  button  that  he  had  to  sew  on 
his  waistcoat,  boasting  of  having  accomplished  a 
labor  like  one  of  "  Caesar's,"  in  this  shop  was 
always  ready  to  lend  a  helping  hand,  throw  off  his 
coat  to  nail  up  or  open  cases,  picking  up  here  and 
there  an  olive  or  a  bit  of  berlingot  candy  and 
lightening  the  labor  with  his  monkey  tricks  and 
stories.  On  one  day  in  the  week,  indeed,  the  day 
of  the  arrival  of  codfish  a  la  brandade,  he  stayed 
very  late  at  the  store  in  order  to  aid  them  in 
sending  out  the  orders. 

Among  them  all  this  particular  Southern  dish, 
codfish  a  la  brandade,  could  hardly  be  found  else- 
where in  Paris  except  at  the  Prodiiits  du  Midi ; 
but  it  was  the  true  article,  white,  carded  fine, 
creamy,  with  just  a  touch  of  garlic,  the  way  it  is 
done  at  Nimes,  from  which  city  indeed  the  Mefres 
had  it  forwarded.  On  Thursday  evening  it 
reaches  Paris  at  seven  o'clock  by  the  lightning 
express  and  Friday  morning  it  is  distributed 
throughout  the  city  to  all  the  good  customers 
whose  names  are  on  the  big  book  of  the  store. 
Nay,  it  is  on  that  very  commercial  ledger  with  its 
tumbled  leaves,  smelling  of  spices  and  soiled  with 
oil,  that  is  inscribed  the  history  of  the  conquest  of 
Paris  by  the  Southerners ;  there  appear  one  after 
the  other  all  the  big  fortunes,  political  and  indus- 
trial posts,  names  of  celebrated  lawyers,  deputies, 
ministers,  and  among  them  all  especially  that  of 
Numa  Roumestan,  the  Vendean  of  the  South,  the 
pillar  of  the  altar  and  the  throne. 


'^  At  the  Products  of  the  South!'    319 

For  the  sake  of  that  single  line  on  which  Rou- 
mestan's  name  is  written  the  Mefres  would  toss 
the  whole  book  into  the  fire.  He  it  is  who  repre- 
sents best  their  ideas  in  religion,  politics  and 
everything.  It  is  just  as  Mme.  Mefre  says,  and 
she  is  more  enthusiastic  than  her  husband : 

"  For  that  man,  I  tell  you,  anybody  would  im- 
peril their  eternal  soul." 

They  are  very  fond  of  recalling  the  period  when 
Numa,  already  on  the  road  to  fame,  did  not  dis- 
dain to  come  there  himself  to  buy  his  stores.  And 
how  he  did  understand  the  way  of  choosing  by  the 
touch  a  pasty !  or  a  sausage  that  sweats  nicely 
under  the  knife !  Then  such  kind-heartedness ! 
and  that  imposing,  handsome  face !  and  always  a 
compliment  for  Madame,  a  pleasant  word  for  his 
"  dear  brother,"  a  caressing  touch  for  the  little 
Mefres  who  accompanied  him  as  far  as  the  car- 
riage bearing  his  parcels.  Since  his  elevation  to 
the  Ministry,  since  those  scoundrels  of  Reds  had 
given  him  so  much  bother  in  the  two  Chambers, 
they  did  not  see  anything  more  of  him,  p^caire ! 
but  he  always  remained  faithful  to  the  Produits,  and 
it  was  always  he  who  got  the  first  distribution. 

One  Thursday  evening  about  ten  o'clock,  when 
all  the  pots  of  codfish  a  la  brandade  had  been 
wrapped  and  tied  and  placed  in  fine  alignment  on 
the  counter,  the  whole  M^fre  family,  the  shop 
boys,  old  Valmajour  and  all  the  products  of  the 
South  were  in  full  number  on  hand,  perspiring 
and  blowing.  They  were  taking  a  rest  with  the 
peculiar  air   of  people  who  have  accomplished  a 


320,  Numa  Roumestait. 

difficult  task  and  were  "  dipping  a  bit "  with  lady- 
fingers  and  biscuits  steeped  in  thick  wine  or  orgeat 
syrup  —  "  Come  now,  just  something  mild  "  —  for 
as  to  anything  strong,  Southerners  do  not  care 
for  that  at  all.  Among  the  townspeople  as  in  the 
country  parts  drunkenness  from  alcohol  is  almost 
unknown.  Instinctively  this  race  has  a  fear  and 
horror  of  it;  it  feels  itself  intoxicated  from  its 
birth  —  drunk  without  drinking. 

For  it  is  most  certainly  true  that  the  wind  and 
the  sun  distil  for  them  a  terrible  kind  of  natural  alcor 
hoi  whose  effect  is  felt  more  or  less  by  all  those 
born  down  there.  Some  of  them  have  only  that 
little  drop  too  much  which  loosens  the  tongue  and 
gestures  and  causes  one  to  see  life  rosy  in  color 
and  discover  sympathetic  souls  everywhere,  which 
brightens  the  eye,  widens  the  streets,  sweeps  away 
obstacles,  doubles  audacity  and  strengthens  the 
timid ;  others  who  are  violently  afiected,  like  the 
little  Valmajour  girl  or  Aunt  Portal,  reach  at  any 
minute  the  limits  of  a  stuttering,  stammering  and 
blind  delirium.  To  understand  it  one  must  have 
seen  our  festivals  in  Provence  with  the  peasants 
standing  up  on  the  tables  yelling  and  pounding 
with  their  big  yellow  shoes,  screaming:  **  Waiter, 
dS gazeuse  !  "  (lemon  soda)  —  an  entire  village  rav- 
ing drunk  over  a  few  bottles  of  lemonade.  And 
where  is  the  Southerner  who  has  not  experienced 
those  sudden  prostrations  of  the  intoxicated,  those 
breakings-down  of  the  whole  being,  right  on  the 
heels  of  wrath  or  of  enthusiasm  —  changes  as  sud- 
den as  a  sunburst  or  a  shadow  across  a  March  sky? 


^'  At  the  Products  of  the  Souths    321 

Without  possessing  the  delirious  Southern  qual- 
ity of  his  daughter,  Father  Valmajour  was  born 
with  a  pretty  lively  case  of  it.  And  that  evening 
his  ladyfingers  dipped  in  orgeat  affected  him  with 
a  crazy  jollity  which  made  him  reel  off,  standing 
with  his  glass  in  his  hand  and  his  mouth  all  twisted 
in  the  middle  of  the  shop,  all  the  farcical  perform- 
ances of  an  old  sponge  who  pays  his  scot  without 
money.  The  Mefres  and  their  shopmen  were  roll- 
ing around  on  the  flour  sacks  with  delight: 

'^  Oh  !  de  ce  Valmajour,  pas  mains  !  "  (O  !  that 
Valmajour,  what  a  fellow  he  is !) 

Suddenly  the  liveliness  of  the  old  fellow  stopped 
short  and  his  gesture,  like  that  of  a  jumping-jack, 
was  brought  to  a  dead  pause  by  the  apparition 
before  him  of  a  Provencal  head-dress  trembling 
with  rage. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  father?  " 

Madame  M^fre  raised  her  arms  toward  the  saus- 
ages suspended  from  the  ceiHng : 

"What!  this  is  your  young  lady?  And  you 
have  never  told  us  about  her !  Well,  how  teeny- 
weeny  she  is !  but  a  good  girl,  I  '11  be  bound. 
Take  a  seat  Miss,  do  !  " 

Owing  as  much  to  his  habit  of  lying  as  to  a 
desire  to  keep  himself  free,  the  old  man  had  never 
spoken  about  his  children,  but  had  given  him- 
self out  as  an  old  bachelor  who  lived  on  his  in- 
come ;  but  among  Southern  people  nobody  is  at  a 
loss  for  one  invention  or  another;  if  an  entire 
caravan  of  little  Valmajours  had  marched  in  on 
the  heels  of  Audiberte  the  welcome  would  have 

21 


322  Numa  Roumestan. 

been  just  the  same,  just  as  warm  and  demonstra- 
tive ;  they  rushed  forward  and  made  a  place  for 
her. 

"  Diff^remment,  you  must  eat  some  dipped  lady- 
fingers  with  us,  too." 

The  Provencal  girl  stood  embarrassed.  She  had 
just  come  from  outside,  from  the  cold  and  black- 
ness of  the  night,  a  hard  night  of  December, 
where  the  feverish  life  of  Paris  continued  to  pul- 
sate in  spite  of  the  late  hour  and  could  be  felt 
through  the  heavy  fog  torn  in  every  direction  by 
swiftly  moving  shadows,  the  colored  lanterns  of 
the  omnibuses  and  the  hoarse  horns  of  the  street 
cars ;  she  arrived  from  the  North,  she  arrived  from 
winter,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden,  without  transi- 
tion, she  found  herself  in  the  midst  of  Italian 
Provence,  in  this  shop  of  the  Mefres  glowing  just 
previous  to  Christmas  with  all  kinds  of  toothsome 
and  sun-filled  articles,  in  the  midst  of  the  well- 
known  accents  and  fragrances  of  home !  It  was 
her  own  country  suddenly  found  again,  a  return  to 
the  motherland  after  a  year  of  exile,  of  struggles  and 
trials  far  away  among  the  barbarians.  A  warmth 
gradually  invaded  her  and  slackened  her  nerves, 
the  while  she  broke  her  barquette  cake  in  a  thim- 
bleful of  Carthagene  and  answered  the  questions 
of  all  this  kindly  set  of  people,  as  much  at  ease 
and  familiar  with  her  as  if  everybody  had  known 
each  other  for  twenty  years  or  more.  She  felt  a 
return  to  her  life  and  usual  habits ;  tears  rose  to 
her  eyes  —  those  hard  eyes  with  veins  of  fire  which 
never  wept. 


"-^/f  the  Products  of  the  Souths    323 

The  name  "Roumestan "  uttered  at  her  side 
dried  up  this  emotion  suddenly.  It  came  from 
Mme.  Mefre,  who  was  looking  over  the  addresses 
of  her  clients  and  was  warning  her  shop-boys  not 
to  make  any  mistake  and  especially  not  to  take 
the  codfish  a  la  brandade  for  Numa  to  Crenelle 
Street,  but  to  the  Rue  de  Londres. 

"  Seems  as  if  codfish  is  not  in  the  odor  of 
sanctity  in  the  Rue  de  Grenelle,"  remarked  one  of 
the  cronies  at  the  Products. 

''  Yes,  indeed,"  said  M.  M^fre.  "  The  lady  be- 
longs  up   North — just  as    northerly  as  possible 

—  uses    nothing   but  butter   in   her    kitchen,  eh? 

—  while  in  the  Rue  de  Londres  there's  the  nicest 
kind  of  South,  jollity,  singing  and  everything 
cooked  in  oil  —  I  understand  why  Numa  enjoys 
himself  most  there." 

So  they  were  talking  in  the  lightest  of  tones  of 
this  second  household  established  by  the  Minister 
in  a  very  convenient  little  house  quite  close  to  the 
railway  station  where  he  could  repose  after  the 
fatigues  of  the  Chamber,  free  from  visitors  and 
the  greater  botherations.  You  may  be  sure  that 
the  excitable  Mme.  Mefre  would  have  uttered 
fine  screeches  if  just  the  same  sort  of  thing  had 
occurred  in  her  family;  but  for  Numa  there  was 
something  very  attractive  and  natural  in  it. 

He  loved  the  tender  passion;  but  didn't  all 
our  kings,  Charles  X  and  Henry  IV,  play  the  gay 
Lothario?  Te !  pardi I  He  got  that  from  his 
Bourbon  nose. 

And  mixed  in  with  this  light  tone,  this  air  of 


324  Numa  Roumestan, 

delight  in  spicy  talk  with  which  the  South  treats 
all  affairs  of  the  heart,  there  was  a  race  hatred,  the 
antipathy  they  felt  against  the  woman  of  the  North, 
the  strange  woman  and  her  food  cooked  with 
butter.  They  grew  excited,  they  went  into  a 
variety  of  anidotes^  the  charms  of  little  Alice  and 
her  successes  in  grand  opera. 

"  Why,  I  knew  Mother  Bachellery  in  the  old 
time  of  the  Fair  at  Beaucaire,"  said  old  Valmajour. 
"  She  used  to  sing  ballads  at  the  Caf6  Thibaut." 

Audiberte  listened  without  breathing,  neve'r 
losing  a  single  word  and  engraving  in  her  mind 
names  and  addresses ;  her  little  eyes  glittered  with 
a  diabolical  intoxication  in  which  the  Carthagene 
wine  had  no  part. 


The  Baby  Clothes,  325 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  BABY   CLOTHES. 

At  the  light  knock  heard  on  her  chamber  door 
Mme.  Roumestan  trembled  as  if  she  had  been 
caught  in  a  crime,  and  pushing  in  again  the  grace- 
fully moulded  drawer  of  her  Louis  XV  bureau 
over  which  she  had  been  leaning  almost  on  her 
knees,  she  cried : 

"  Who  's  there?     What  do  you  want,  Polly?  " 
**A  letter  for  Madame;  there  is  great  haste," 
answered  the  Englishwoman. 

Rosalie  took  the  letter  and  closed  the  door 
sharply.  The  writing  was  unknown  and  coarse, 
traced  upon  wretched  paper,  and  there  was  the 
"  urgent  and  personal "  which  accompanies  beg- 
ging letters.  A  Parisian  chambermaid  would 
never  have  disturbed  her  for  such  a  little  thing  as 
that.  She  pitched  it  on  the  bureau,  postponing 
the  reading  of  it  till  later,  and  returned  quickly 
to  her  drawer  which  contained  the  marvels  of 
the  baby's  old  layette.  For  the  last  eight  years, 
ever  since  the  tragedy,  she  had  not  opened  it, 
fearing  to  find  her  tears  there  again;  nor  even 
since  her  new  happiness  had  she  done  so  owing 
to  a  very  maternal  superstition,  fearing  lest  she 
should  come  to   grief  once  more  by  means  of  a 


326  Numa  Roumestan^ 

premature  caress  given  by  way  of  its  little  layette 
to  the  child  that  was  yet  to  come. 

This  courageous  lady  had  all  the  nervous  feel- 
ings of  the  woman,  all  her  tremblings,  all  the 
shivery  drawing-together  of  the  mimosa.  The 
world,  which  judges  without  understanding  any- 
thing, found  her  cold,  just  as  the  dull  and  stupid 
suppose  that  flowers  are  not  endowed  with  life. 
But  now,  her  happiness  having  endured  for  six 
months,  she  must  make  up  her  mind  to  bring  all 
these  little  articles  out  from  their  mourning  and 
enclosure,  shake  out  their  pleats,  go  over  and 
perhaps  change  thern;  for  even  in  the  case  of 
baby  clothes  fashion  changes  and  the  ribbons  are 
adjusted  differently  at  different  times.  It  was  for 
this  most  intimate  work  that  Rosalie  had  carefully 
locked  herself  in;  throughout  that  big  bustling 
Ministry,  rustling  with  papers  and  humming  with 
reports  and  the  feverish  flitting  hither  and  thither 
from  offices  to  departments,  there  was  assuredly 
nothing  quite  so  serious,  nothing  quite  so  mov- 
ing as  that  woman  on  her  knees  before  an 
open  drawer,  her  heart  beating  and  her  hands 
trembling. 

She  took  up  the  laces  somewhat  yellow  with 
time  which  preserved  along  with  the  perfume  all 
this  white  mass  of  innocent  clothes  —  baby  caps 
and  undershirts  arranged  according  to  age  and 
size,  the  gown  for  baptism,  the  robe  full  of  little 
pleats  and  the  doll  stockings.  She  recalled  her  life 
down  there  at  Orsay,  gently  languid  and  at  work 
for  hours  together  in  the  shadow  of  the  big  catalpa 


The  Baby  Clothes,  327 

whose  white  petals  dropped  into  her  work-basket 
among  her  spools  and  delicate  embroidery  scis- 
sors, her  entire  thought  concentrated  upon  some 
one  point  of  tailoring  which  gave  her  the  measure 
of  her  dreams  and  the  passage  of  time.  What 
illusions  she  had  then  had,  what  belief  and  trust! 
What  a  delicious  murmuring  throughout  the 
foliage  above  her  head  and  what  a  rising  up  of 
tender  and  novel  sensations  in  herself!  In  a 
single  day  life  had  suddenly  taken  all  that  from 
her.  And  so  despair  flowed  back  again  to  her 
heart  as  little  by  little  she  pulled  forth  the  lay- 
ette —  the  treason  of  her  husband,  the  loss  of  her 
child. 

The  appearance  of  the  first  little  dress  all  ready 
to  be  pulled  on,  that  which  is  laid  on  the  cradle 
at  the  moment  of  birth,  the  sleeves  pushed  one 
within  the  other,  the  arms  spread  apart,  the 
little  caps  blown  up  to  a  round  shape,  made 
her  burst  into  tears.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her 
child  had  lived  and  that  she  had  known  it  and 
held  it  to  her  heart.  A  son,  O,  certainly  it  was 
a  boy,  a  strong  and  beautiful  one,  and  from  his 
very  birth  he  had  the  mysterious  and  deep  eyes 
of  his  grandfather !  To-day  he  would  have  been 
eight  years  old  and  have  had  long  curls  falling 
round  his  shoulders ;  at  that  age  they  still  belong 
to  the  mother,  who  takes  them  walking,  dresses 
them,  makes  them  work.     Ah,  cruel,  cruel  life ! 

But  after  a  while,  as  she  pulled  out  and  twitched 
into  shape  these  little  objects  tied  together  with 
microscopic  bows,  with  their  embroidered  flowers 


328  Ntima  Roumestan, 

and  snowy  laces,  she  began  to  be  calm.  Well, 
no ;  after  all,  life  is  not  so  evil,  and  while  it  lasts 
one  must  keep  up  one's  courage.  At  that  terrible 
turn  of  her  life  she  had  lost  all  of  hers,  imagining 
that  the  end  had  come,  so  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned, for  believing,  loving,  being  wife  and 
mother;  thinking  in  fact  that  there  only  remained 
for  her  the  pleasure  of  looking  back  upon  the 
shining  past  and  watching  it  disappear  in  the 
distance  like  some  shore  which  one  regrets  to, 
leave.  Then  after  gloomy  years  the  spring  had 
shot  out  its  fruits  slowly  beneath  the  cold  snow  of 
her  heart;  lo  and  behold,  it  flowered  again  in  this 
little  creature  who  was  about  to  live  and  whom 
she  felt  was  already  vigorous  from  the  terrible 
little  kicks  which  it  gave  her  during  the  night. 
And  then  her  Numa,  so  changed,  so  good,  quite 
cured  of  his  brutality  and  violence !  To  be  sure 
he  still  showed  weaknesses  which  she  did  not  like, 
those  roundabout  Italian  ways  which  he  could 
not  help  having,  but,  even  as  he  said  —  "  O,  that? 
—  that  is  politics !  "  Besides  that,  she  was  no 
longer  the  victim  of  the  illusions  of  her  early 
years;  she  knew  that  in  order  to  live  happily 
one  must  be  contented  with  coming  near  to  what 
one  desires  in  everything  and  that  complete  hap- 
piness can  only  be  quarried  from  the  half-happi- 
nesses which  existence  affords  us. 

A  new  knock  at  the  door.  It  is  M.  Mejean 
who  would  like  to  speak  to  Madame. 

''Very  good,  I'm  coming." 

She  found  him  in  the  little  drawing-room  which 


The  Baby  Clothes.  329 

he  was  measuring  from  end  to  end  with  excited 
steps. 

"  I  have  a  confession  to  make  to  you,"  said  he, 
using  a  somewhat  brusque  tone  of  familiarity  which 
their  old  friendship  authorized  and  which  both  of 
them  would  have  liked  to  have  turned  into  a 
relationship  of  brother  and  sister.  "■  Some  days 
ago  I  put  an  end  to  this  wretched  affair  —  and  did 
not  withhold  the  statement  from  you  for  the  sake 
of  keeping  this  longer  in  my  possession  —  " 

He  held  out  to  her  the  portrait  of  Hortense 
obtained  from  Audiberte. 

**Well,  at  last!  O,  how  happy  she  is  going 
to  be,  poor  dear !  " 

She  softened  at  the  sight  of  her  sister's  pretty 
face,  her  sister  sparkling  with  health  and  youth 
in  that  Provencal  disguise,  and  read  at  the  bottom 
of  the  picture  in  her  fine  and  very  firm  writing: 
"  I  believe  in  you  and  I  love  you  —  Hortense  Le 
Quesnoy."  Then,  remembering  that  the  wretched 
lover  had  also  read  it  and  that  he  must  have  been 
intrusted  with  a  very  sorrowful  commission  in 
procuring  it,  she  grasped  his  hand  affectionately: 

"  Thank  you." 

**  No,  do  not  thank  me,  Madame. — Yes,  it  was 
hard  —  but  for  the  last  eight  days  I  have  lived 
with  that  *  I  believe  in  you  and  I  love  you,'  and 
at  times  I  could  imagine  that  it  was  meant  for 
me."  And  then  very  low  and  timidly:  **  How 
is  she  getting  on?  " 

"■  Oh,  not  well  at  all  —  Mamma  is  taking  her 
South.     Now  she  is  willing  to  do  whatever  any- 


330  Numa  Roumestan, 

body  wishes  —  it  is  just  as  if  a  spring  had  broken 
in  her." 

"Altered?" 

Rosalie  made  a  gesture :   "  Ah  !  " 

*'  Till  we  meet  again,  Madame/'  said  Mejean 
very  quickly,  moving  away  with  hurried  steps ;  he 
turned  back  again  at  the  door  and  squaring  his 
solid  shoulders   beneath  the  half-raised   curtain: 

"  It  is  the  luckiest  thing  in  the  world  that  I 
have  no  imagination.  I  should  be  altogether  too, 
unhappy !  " 

Rosalie  returned  to  her  room  deeply  dejected. 
There  was  no  use  in  fighting  against  it  by  recall- 
ing her  sister's  youth  and  the  encouraging  words 
of  Jarras,  who  persisted  in  looking  upon  it  merely 
as  a  crisis  which  it  was  necessary  to  cross ;  black 
thoughts  invaded  her  which  would  not  tally  with 
the  festive  white  in  the  baby's  layette.  She  has- 
tened to  tie  up,  lay  in  order  and  turn  the  key  upon 
these  little  scattered  articles,  and  as  she  got  up 
she  perceived  the  letter  lying  on  the  bureau,  took 
and  read  it  mechanically,  expecting  to  find  the 
commonplace  begging  statement  which  she  re- 
ceived every  day  from  so  many  different  hands, 
and  which  would  have  come  at  a  lucky  moment 
during  one  of  those  spells  of  superstition,  when 
charity  seems  a  bringer  of  good  luck.  That  was 
why  she  did  not  understand  it  at  first  and  was 
obliged  to  read  again  these  lines,  which  had  been 
written  out  as  a  copy  by  the  ignorant  pen  of  a 
schoolboy,  the  boy  employed  by  Guilloche : 

"If  you    are   fond   of  codfish   a   la   brandadey 


The  Baby  Clothes,  331 

delicious  Is  tliat  which  is  eaten  to-night  at  the 
house  of  Mme.  Bachellery  in  the  Rue  de  Londres. 
Your  husband  pays  for  the  supper.  Ring  three 
times  and  enter  straight  ahead." 

From  these  foolish  phrases,  from  this  slimy  and 
perfidious  abyss,  the  truth  arose  and  appeared  to 
her,  helped  by  coincidences  and  recollections  -^ 
that  name  **  Bachellery  "  pronounced  so  often  dur- 
ing the  past  year,  enigmatical  articles  in  the  papers 
concerning  her  engagement  at  the  opera,  that 
address  which  she  had  heard  Numa  himself  give, 
and  the  long  stay  at  Arvillard.  In  a  second, 
doubt  crystallized  itself  in  her  to  certainty.  And 
besides,  did  not  the  past  throw  a  light  for  her  upon 
this  present  and  all  its  actual  horror?  Lies  and 
grimace  —  he  was  not  and  could  not  be  anything 
but  that.  Why  should  this  eternal  maker  of  dupes 
spare  her?  It  was  her  fault;  she  had  been  the 
fool  to  allow  herself  to  be  caught  by  his  lying 
voice  and  vulgar  caresses.  And  in  the  same 
second  certain  details  came  to  her  mind  which 
made  her  red  and  pale  by  turns. 

This  time  it  was  no  longer  despair  showing 
itself  with  heavy,  pure  tears  as  in  the  early  decep- 
tions, but  anger  against  herself  for  having  been  so 
feeble  and  cowardly  as  to  have  been  able  to 
pardon  him,  and  against  him  who  had  duped  her 
in  contempt  of  the  promises  and  oaths  in  connec- 
tion with  the  former  crime.  She  would  like  to 
have  convicted  him  of  his  villainy  there,  on  the 
moment,  but  he  was  at  Versailles  in  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies.     It  occurred  to  her  to  call  Mejean, 


332  Numa  Roumesfan, 

but  then  she  felt  a  repugnance  to  force  that  honest 
fellow  to  lie.  And  being  thus  reduced  to  crushing 
down  a  swarm  of  contrary  feelings,  prevent  her- 
self from  crying  out  and  surrendering  to  the 
terrible  nerve-crisis  which  she  felt  rising  in  her, 
she  strode  to  and  fro  on  the  carpet,  her  hands 
with  a  famihar  action  resting  against  the  loosened 
waist  of  her  dressing-gown.  All  of  a  sudden  she 
stopped  and  shuddered,  seized  by  a  crazy  fear. 

Her  child ! 

He  was  suffering  too  and  he  was  calling  to  his 
mother  with  all  the  power  of  a  life  which  is 
struggling  to  exist.  Oh,  my  God,  if  he  also,  if  he 
was  going  to  die  like  the  other  one  at  the  same 
age,  and  under  exactly  similar  conditions  !  Des- 
tiny, which  people  call  blind,  has  sometimes  savage 
combinations,  and  she  began  to  reason  with  her- 
self in  half-broken  words  and  tender  exclamations. 
"Dear  little  fellow!  —  poor  Httle  fellow! — "and 
attempted  to  look  upon  everything  coldly  as  it 
exists,  in  order  to  conduct  herself  in  a  dignified 
way  and  above  all  not  to  destroy  that  solitary 
good  thing  which  remained  to  her.  She  even 
took  in  hand  some  work,  that  embroidery  of 
Penelope  which  the  Parisian  woman  keeps  about 
her,  being  always  in  action ;  for  it  was  necessary 
to  wait  for  Numa's  return  and  have  an  explana- 
tion with  him,  or  rather  to  discover  in  his  attitude 
a  conviction  of  his  crime,  before  it  came  to  the 
irremediable  scandal  of  a  separation. 

O,  those  brilliant  wools  and  that  regular  and 
colorless  canvas  —  what  confidences  may  they  not 


The  Baby  Clothes,  333 

receive,  what  regrets,  joys  and  desires  form  the 
complicated  and  knotted  reverse  of  the  canvas 
full  of  broken  threads  in  these  feminine  products, 
with  their  flowers  peacefully  interwoven  ! 

Coming  back  from  the  Chamber  of  Deputies, 
Numa  Roumestan  found  his  wife  embroidering 
beneath  the  narrow  gleam  of  a  single  lighted 
lamp,  and  this  quiet  picture,  her  lovely  profile 
softened  by  her  chestnut-colored  hair,  in  that 
luxurious  shade  of  cushioned  furniture  where  the 
lacquer  screens  and  old  bronzes,  the  ivories  and 
potteries,  caught  the  warm  and  shooting  rays  from 
a  wood  fire,  overcame  him  by  contrast  with  the 
noise  of  the  Assembly,  where  the  brilliantly 
lighted  ceilings  are  swathed  in  a  dust  full  of 
movement  that  floats  above  the  hall  of  debate  like 
the  smoke  from  powder  above  a  field  where 
military  are  manoeuvring. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mamma;  it's  pleasant  here 
with  you." 

The  day's  meeting  had  been  a  hot  one ;  always 
that  wretched  appropriation  bill,  and  the  Left 
fastened  for  five  hours  on  the  coat  tails  of  that  poor 
General  d'Espaillon,  who  didn't  know  enough 
to  put  two  ideas  together  when  he  was  n't  saying 
g  —  d  — ,  etc.,  etc.  Well,  anyhow,  the  Cabinet 
would  get  through  this  time ;  but  after  the  vaca- 
tion at  New  Year's,  when  the  Assembly  would 
reach  the  question  of  the  Fine  Arts  —  then  was 
the  time  to  look  out ! 

"  They  are  counting  very  much  on  the  Cadaillac 
business  to  upset  me !  .  .  .  Rougeot   is  the  one 


334  N'uma  Roumestan, 

who  will  talk  ....  He  's  no  chicken,  that  Rou- 
geot;  he  has  a  backbone!" 

Then  with  his  famous  jerk  of  the  shoulder: 
"  Rougeot  against  Roumestan  —  the  North  against 
the  South  —  all  the  better !  It  will  amuse  me.  It 
will  be  a  hand-to-hand  fight." 

Excited  by  his  political  matters,  he  talked  on  in 
a  monologue  without  noticing  how  silent  Rosalie 
was.  Then  he  approached  her  and,  sitting  very- 
near  her  on  a  footstool,  made  her  stop  her  work 
by  trying  to  kiss  her  hand. 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  a  terrible  hurry  with  what 
you  are  embroidering.  Is  it  for  my  New  Year's 
present?  I  have  bought  yours.  Just  guess  what 
it  is!" 

She  pulled  her  hand  gently  away  and  looked 
him  steadily  in  the  face  in  an  embarrassing  man- 
ner without  answering  him.  His  features  were 
drawn  and  weary  from  his  days  of  work  in  the 
Assembly,  showing  that  loosened  look  of  the  face 
and  revealing  in  the  corners  of  the  eyes  and  the 
mouth  a  character  at  once  weak  and  violent  — 
all  the  passions  and  nothing  to  resist  them.  Faces 
down  south  are  like  the  Southern  landscape.  It 
is  better  not  to  look  at  them  unless  the  sun  is 
shining. 

**  Are  you  dining  at  home?  "  asked  Rosalie. 

"No,  I'm  sorry  to  say  —  I'm  expected  at 
Durand's  —  a  tiresome  dinner  —  ///  I'm  already 
late,'*  added  he  as  he  rose.  "  Luckily  it  is  not 
necessary  to  dress  there." 

That   fixed    look   in   his   wife's    face    followed 


The  Baby  Clothes,  335 

him.  "Dine  with  me,  I  beg  of  you  —  "and  her 
harmonious  voice  hardened  into  insistence  and 
sounded  threatening  and  implacable. 

But  Roumestan  was  no  observer.  "  And  besides, 
business  is  business,  is  it  not  so?  O,  this  life  of 
a  public  man  cannot  be  arranged  as  one  would 
wish !  " 

"  Well  then,  goodbye,"  said  she  gravely,  com- 
pleting that  farewell  within  her  own  mind  with  a 
**  since  it  is  our  destiny." 

She  listened  to  the  coupe  roll  off  beneath  the 
vaulted  passage  and  then,  having  carefully  folded 
up  her  work,  she  rang. 

**  A  carriage,  right  away  —  a  hackney-coach  — 
and  you,  Polly,  give  me  my  mantle  and  bonnet  — 
I  'm  going  out." 

Quickly  ready  to  start,  she  embraced  in  on6 
look  the  chamber  she  was  quitting,  where  she 
neither  regretted  anything  nor  left  behind  her  any 
part  of  herself,  for  it  was  merely  the  room  of  a  fur- 
nished apartment-house  despite  all  the  pomp  of 
its  cold  yellow  brocades. 

"  See  that  the  big  cardboard  box  is  put  in  the 
carriage." 

Of  what  belonged  to  both,  the  baby's  layette 
was  all  that  she  carried  off. 

Standing  at  the  door  of  the  coach  the  mystified 
Englishwoman  asked  if  Madame  was  not  going 
to  dine  at  home.  No,  she  will  dine  at  her  father's 
where  probably  she  will  also  pass  the  night. 

On  the  way  a  doubt  overcame  her,  or  rather 
a   scruple.     Suppose    nothing    of    all    this   were 


336  Numa  Roumestan, 

true?  Suppose  that  Bachellery  girl  did  not  live 
in  the  Rue  de  Londres.  She  gave  the  coachman 
the  address,  but  without  much  hope;  still,  she 
must  have  certainty  on  this  point. 

The  carriage  stopped  before  a  little  house  two 
stories  high,  crowned  by  a  terrace  for  a  summer 
garden ;  it  was  the  old  home  in  Paris  of  a  Cairo 
man  who  had  just  died  a  bankrupt.  There  was 
about  it  the  look  of  a  little  house  with  shutters 
closed  and  curtains  drawn;  a  strong  odor  of  the 
kitchen  rose  from  the  brightly  lit  and  noisy  base-, 
ment.  Rosalie  understood  what  it  was  just  from 
noting  how  the  front  door  obeyed  three  strokes  of 
the  bell  and  of  itself  seemed  to  turn  upon  its  hinges. 
A  Persian  tapestry  caught  up  by  heavy  cords  in  the 
centre  of  the  antechamber  allowed  a  glimpse  of 
the  stair  with  its  soft  carpet  and  its  lamps  in  which 
the  gas  was  burning  at  the  highest  point.  She 
heard  laughter,  took  two  steps  forward  and  saw 
what  never  more  in  her  life  she  could  forget. 

At  the  turn  of  the  stairs  on  the  first  floor  Numa 
was  leaning  over  the  banisters  red  and  excited, 
in  his  shirt  sleeves,  with  his  arm  round  the  waist 
of  that  girl,  who  was  also  very  much  excited,  her 
hair  loosened  and  falling  down  her  back  upon  the 
frills  of  a  rose-colored  silk  morning-gown.  And 
there  he  was,  calling  out  in  his  violent  way : 

"  Bompard,  bring  up  the  brandadef* 

That  was  where  he  could  be  seen  as  he  really 
was,  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  and  Relig- 
ion, the  great  proclaimer  of  religious  morality, 
the  defender  of  sound  doctrines !  It  was  there  he 


The  Baby  Clothes,  337 

showed  himself  without  mask  or  hypocritical 
grimace — all  his  South  turned  outside  for  inspec- 
tion !  —  at  ease  and  in  his  shirt-sleeves  as  if  at  the 
Fair  of  Beaucaire. 

**  Bompard,  bring  up  the  brandade! "  repeated 
the  giddy  girl,  intentionally  exaggerating  Numa's 
Provencal  accent.  Without  a  question  that  was 
Bompard,  the  improvised  cookshop  boy  who 
came  up  from  the  kitchen,  a  napkin  over  his 
shoulder  and  his  arms  surrounding  a  great  big 
dish.  It  was  he  who  caused  the  sounding  wing  of 
the  door  to  turn  on  its  hinges. 


338  Numa  Roumestan. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

NEW  year's   day. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Central  Administration ! " 
".Directors  of  the  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts  !  "- 
"  Gentlemen  of  the  Academy  of  Medicine  !  " 
In  grand  gala  dress,  with  his  short  hose  and 
sword  by  his  side,  the  chamberlain  was  announc- 
ing the  arrivals  in  a  mournful  voice  that  resounded 
through  the  solemn  drawing-rooms.  As  he  called 
out,  lines  of  black  coats  crossed  the  immense  hall 
all  red  and  gold  and  ranged  themselves  in  a  half- 
circle  before  the  Minister,  who  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  chimneypiece,  having  near  him  his  Under- 
Secretary  of  State,  M.  de  la  Calmette,  and  his  chief 
of  cabinet,  his  foppish  attaches  and  a  few  directors 
belonging  to  the  Ministry  such  as  Dansaert  and 
Bechut.  His  Excellency  addressed  compliments 
and  congratulations  for  the  decorations  and  aca- 
demic palms  granted  to  some  of  those  present, 
according  as  each  organization  arrived  and  was 
presented  by  its  dean  or  president;  then  the  or- 
ganization turned  right  about  and  gave  way  to 
another  set,  some  bodies  retiring  whilst  others 
arrived,  causing  no  little  confusion  at  the  doors  of 
the  hall. 


New  Years  Day,  339 

For  it  was  late;  it  was  past  one  o'clock  and 
each  man  was  thinking  of  the  breakfast  which  was 
waiting  for  him  at  home.  In  the  concert  hall 
which  had  been  turned  into  a  vestiary,  impatient 
groups  were  looking  at  their  watches,  buttoning 
their  gloves,  adjusting  their  white  cravats  below 
their  drawn  faces ;  gaping  and  weariness,  bad  tem- 
per and  hunger  were  on  every  side.  Roumestan 
himself  felt  the  weariness  of  this  important  day. 
He  had  lost  his  fine  warmth  of  spirit  shown  at  the 
same  time  last  year,  his  faith  in  the  future  and  in 
reform,  and  he  let  his  little  speeches  off  slowly, 
pierced  through  to  his  very  marrow  by  the  cold, 
despite  the  radiators  and  the  enormous  flaming 
wood  fire;  indeed,  that  little  flaky  snow  which 
whirled  about  the  panes  of  the  windows  seemed  to 
fall  upon  his  light  heart  and  congeal  it  even  as  it 
fell  upon  the  greensward  of  the  garden. 
**  Gentlemen  of  the  Comedie-Frangaise  !  " 
Closely  shaved  and  solemn,  distributing  bows 
just  as  the  fashion  was  in  the  grand  epoch,  they 
posed  themselves  in  majestic  attitudes  about  their 
dean,  who  in  a  cavernous  voice  presented  the  com- 
pany, talked  about  the  endeavors  and  vows  the 
company  had  made  —  "the"  company,  without 
any  epithet  or  qualifying  word,  just  as  we  say 
"  God"  or  as  we  say  *'the"  Bible  —  exactly  as  if 
no  other  company  existed  in  the  world  except 
that  alone !  And  it  must  be  said  that  poor  Rou- 
mestan needs  be  very  much  enfeebled  if  this  same 
company  could  not  excite  his  eloquence  and  grand 
theatrical  phrases,  this  company  to  which  he  him- 


340  Numa  Roumestan, 

self  seemed  to  belong  with  his  bluish  chin,  his  jowls 
and  his  distinguished  but  most  conventional  poses  ! 
The  fact  was  that  for  the  last  eight  days,  since 
the  departure  of  Rosalie,  he  was  like  a  gambler 
who  has  lost  his  mascot;  he  was  frightened  and 
suddenly  felt  himself  inferior  to  his  fortune  and 
thus  ready  to  be  crushed.  Mediocrities  who  have 
been  favored  by  chance  have  such  panics  and 
nervous  crises  and  they  were  increased  in  him  by 
the  terrible  scandal  which  was  about  to  break 
out,  the  scandal  of  a  lawsuit  for  separation  which 
the  young  wife  insisted  upon  absolutely,  notwith- 
standing all  his  letters  and  visits,  his  grovelling 
prayers  and  oaths.  To  keep  up  appearances  it 
was  said  at  the  Ministry  that  Mme.  Roumestan 
had  gone  to  live  with  her  father  because  of  the 
near  departure  of  Mme.  Le  Quesnoy  and  Hor- 
tense.  But  nobody  was  taken  in  by  that,  and  the 
luckless  man  saw  his  adventure  reflected  in  pity  or 
curiosity  or  sarcasm  from  all  these  faces  which 
were  defiling  before  him,  as  well  as  from  certain 
broadly  marked  smiles  and  from  various  shakes 
of  the  hand,  a  little  more  energetic  than  usual. 
There  was  not  a  single  one  of  the  lowest  em- 
ployees who  had  come  to  the  reception  in  jacket 
and  overcoat  who  was  not  thoroughly  posted  in 
this  matter.  Among  the  offices  couplets  were  cir- 
culating from  mouth  to  mouth  in  which  Chambery 
rhymed  with  Bachellery;  more  than  one  porter 
discontented  with  his  pay  was  humming  one  of 
these  couplets  within  himself  whilst  making  a 
deep  bow  to  his  supreme  chief. 


New   Years  Day,  341 

Two  o'clock !  Still  the  organized  bodies  kept 
presenting  themselves  and  the  snow  kept  deepen- 
ing whilst  the  man  with  the  chains  over  his  uni- 
form introduced  pell-mell  and  without  any  kind  of 
order : 

**  Gentlemen  of  the  School  of  Laws  !  " 
*'  Gentlemen  of  the  Conservatory  of  Music  !  " 
"  Directors  of  the  Subsidized  Theatres  !  " 
By   favor    of    seniority    and    his   three    failures 
Cadaillac  arrived  at  the  head   of  this  delegation. 
Roumestan  longed  far   more  to  fall  with   fist  and 
foot  upon  the   cynical  impresario  whose  nomina- 
tion had  occasioned  such  serious  embarrassment  to 
him  than  to  listen  to  the  fine  speech  to  which  the 
ferocious  insolence  of  his  look  gave  the  lie  and  to 
answer  him  with  a  forced  compliment,  half  of  which 
stuck  in  the  big  folds  of  his  cravat: 

"  Greatly  touched,  gentlemen  .  .  .  mn  mn  mn 
.  .  .  progress  of  art  .  .  .  mn  mn  m.7i  .  .  .  still 
better  in  the  future.  .  ." 

And  the  impresario  as  he  moved  off: 
"  Poor  old  Numa  —  he  's  got  a  charge  of  lead  in 
his  wing  this  time  !  " 

When  these  had  left,  the  Minister  and  his  com- 
rades did  honor  to  the  usual  breakfast;  but  this 
meal  which  had  been  so  gay  and  full  of  effusion 
the  year  before  was  weighted  down  by  the  gloom 
of  the  chief  and  bad  temper  on  the  part  of  his  inti- 
mates, who  were  all  of  them  enraged  with  him 
on  account  of  their  own  situations  which  he  had 
already  begun  to  compromise.  This  scandalous 
lawsuit  coming  just  in  the  midst  of  the  debate  over 


34^  Numa  Roumestait, 

Cadaillac  would  be  sure  to  make  Roumestan  im- 
possible as  a  member  of  the  cabinet.  That  very 
morning  at  the  reception  in  the  Palace  of  the 
Elysees  the  Marshal  had  said  two  words  about  it 
with  the  laconic  and  brutal  eloquence  natural  to 
an  old  cavalryman :   "  A  dirty  business  !  " 

Without  precisely  having  heard  this  speech  from 
an  august  mouth,  which  was  murmured  in  Numa's 
ear  in  an  alcove,  the  gentlemen  round  him  saw 
very  clearly  their  own  fall  coming  behind  that  of 
their  chief. 

**  Oil,  women,  women !  "  grunted  the  learned 
Bechut  over  his  plate.  M.  de  la  Calmette  with  his 
thirty  years  of  official  life  grew  melancholy  as  he 
pondered  over  a  retiring  from  office  like  unto 
Tircis,  and  below  his  breath  the  long-legged  Lap- 
para  amused  himself  by  frightening  Rochemaure 
out  of  his  wits : 

"  Viscount,  we  must  look  out  for  ourselves ;  we 
shall  be  decapitated  before  eight  days  are  over !  " 

After  a  toast  had  been  given  by  the  Minister  to 
the  New  Year  and  his  dear  collaborators,  uttered 
with  a  shaky  voice  in  which  one  heard  the  tears,  they 
separated.  Mejean,  who  stayed  to  the  last,  walked 
two  or  three  times  up  and  down  beside  his  friend 
without  having  the  courage  to  say  a  single  word ; 
then  he  too  left.  Notwithstanding  his  wish  to  keep 
by  his  side  during  that  day  a  man  like  Mejean 
whose  straightforward  nature  forced  his  respect 
like  a  reproach  uttered  by  his  own  conscience,  but 
at  the  same  time  sustained  and  reassured  him, 
Numa  could  not  stand  in  the  way  of  Mejean's  duty, 


New   Years  Day,  343 

which  was  to  run  his  round  of  visits  and  distribute 
good  wishes  and  presents  for  the  New  Year,  any- 
more than  he  could  prevent  his  chamberlain  from 
going  back  to  his  family  and  unburdening  himself 
of  his  sword  and  short-clothes. 

What  a  howling  solitude  was  that  Ministry !  It 
was  like  Sunday  in  a  factory  with  the  boiler  cold 
and  silent.  In  all  the  departments  upstairs  and 
downstairs,  in  his  own  cabinet,  where  he  vainly 
attempted  to  write,  in  his  bed-chamber,  which  he 
began  once  more  to  fill  with  his  sobs,  everywhere 
that  little  January  snow  was  whirling  about  the  big 
windows,  veiling  the  horizon  and  increasing  the 
silence  which  was  like  that  of  the  Eastern  steppes. 

Oh,  the  misery  of  men  in  lofty  positions ! 

A  clock  struck  four  and  then  another  answered 
and  then  still  others  replied  through  the  vast 
desert  of  the  palace  until  it  seemed  as  if  there  was 
nothing  alive  there  except  the  hour.  The  idea  of 
remaining  there  till  evening  face  to  face  with  his 
wretchedness  frightened  him.  He  felt  that  he 
must  thaw  himself  a  little  with  a  bit  of  friendship 
and  tenderness.  Steam  radiators  and  warm-air 
registers  and  half  trees  flaming  in  the  chimney- 
piece  did  not  constitute  a  hearth ;  for  a  moment 
he  thought  of  the  Rue  de  Londres.  But  he  had 
sworn  to  his  lawyer  —  for  the  lawyers  were  already 
at  work  —  to  keep  quiet  until  the  suit  was  decided. 
All  of  a  sudden  a  name  flashed  across  his  mind : 
"  Bompard  !  Why  had  he  not  come?  "  Generally 
he  was  observed  to  arrive  the  first  on  mornings  of 
feast-days,  his  arms  full  of  bouquets  and   paper 


344  Numa  Roumestmi, 

sacks  with  candles  for  Rosalie,  Hortense  and 
Mme.  Le  Quesnoy,  wearing  on  his  lips  a  smile 
which  expressed  his  character  of  grandpapa  or  of 
Santa  Claus.  Of  course  Roumestan  paid  the  bill 
of  these  surprises,  but  friend  Bompard  was  pos- 
sessed of  imagination  enough  to  forget  that  fact, 
and,  notwithstanding  her  antipathy,  Rosalie  could 
not  help  being  touched  when  she  thought  of  the 
privations  which  the  poor  devil  must  have  under- 
gone in  order  to  be  so  generous. 

''  Suppose  I  go  and  get  him  and  we  dine 
together." 

He  was  reduced  to  that.  He  rang,  took  off  his 
evening  dress,  all  his  medals  and  orders  and  went 
out  on  foot  by  the  Rue  Bellechasse. 

The  quays  and  bridges  were  all  white ;  but  when 
he  had  crossed  the  courtyard  of  the  Carrousel 
neither  ground  nor  air  betrayed  a  trace  of  snow. 
It  disappeared  under  the  wheels  that  crowded  the 
street,  in  the  swarming  myriads  of  the  mob  cover- 
ing the  sidewalks  at  the  shop-fronts  and  pushing 
round  the  offices  of  the  omnibus  lines.  This  tu- 
mult of  a  feast-day  evening,  the  calls  of  the  coach- 
men, the  shrill  cries  of  peddlers  in  the  luminous 
confusion  of  the  shop-fronts,  where  the  lilac- 
colored  jets  from  the  Jablochkoff  burners  ex- 
tinguished the  twinkling  yellow  of  the  gas  and  the 
last  reflections  from  the  pale  afternoon,  lulled  the 
despair  of  Roumestan  and  dissolved  it,  as  it  were, 
by  means  of  the  agitation  of  the  street.  Mean- 
time he  directed  his  steps  toward  the  Boulevard 
Poissonniere  where  the  old  Circassian,  very  seden- 


New  Years  Day,  345 

tary  like  all  men  of  imagination,  had  lived  for  the 
last  twenty  years,  in  fact  since  his  arrival  in  Paris. 

Nobody  had  ever  seen  the  interior  of  Bompard's 
home,  of  which  nevertheless  he  talked  a  good 
deal,  as  well  as  of  his  garden  and  his  artistic  fur- 
niture, to  complete  which  he  haunted  all  the 
auctions  at  the  Hotel  Drouot. 

'*  Do  come  to  breakfast  one  of  these  days  and 
eat  a  chop  with  me !  " 

That  was  the  regular  form  of  invitation  which 
he  scattered  right  and  left,  but  any  one  who  took 
him  at  his  word  never  found  anybody  at  home ;  he 
came  up  standing  against  signs  left  by  the  janitor, 
against  bells  wrapped  in  paper  or  deprived  of 
their  wire.  During  an  entire  year  Lappara  and 
Rochemaure  obstinately  continued  to  try  to  reach 
Bompard's  rooms  and  overcome  the  extraor- 
dinary stratagems  of  the  Provencal  who  was 
guarding  the  mystery  of  his  apartment  —  but  all 
in  vain.  One  day  he  even  took  out  some  of  the 
bricks  near  the  front  door  in  order  to  be  able  to 
say  across  this  species  of  barricade  to  the  friends 
he  had  invited : 

"Awfully  sorry,  dear  boys  —  we  have  had 
an  escape  of  gas  —  everything  blown  up  last 
night ! " 

After  having  mounted  numberless  stories  and 
wandered  through  long  corridors,  tumbled  over 
invisible  steps  and  intruded  upon  veritable  assem- 
blies of  witches  among  the  servants*  bedrooms, 
Roumestan,  quite  blown  from  that  arduous  ascent, 
to   which  his  legs  of  an   illustrious   man  were  no 


34^  Numa  Roumestan. 

longer  equal,  tumbled  against  a  great  big  wash- 
bowl fastened  to  the  wall. 

"  Who 's  there  ?  "  spoke  out  a  well-known  voice 
coming  from  far  down  the  throat. 

The  door  opened  slowly,  weighed  down  by  a 
clothes-rack  upon  which  hung  the  entire  ward- 
robe of  the  lodger  for  winter  and  summer;  the 
room  was  small  and  Bompard  did  not  lose  the 
benefit  of  an  eighth  of  an  inch  and  was  compelled 
to  keep  his  toilet  table  in  the  corridor.  His , 
friend  found  him  lying  on  a  little  iron  bed,  his 
brow  decorated  with  a  scarlet  head-dress,  a  sort 
of  Dantesque  cap  which  rose  up  in  astonishment 
at  sight  of  the  distinguished  visitor. 

"  It  can't  be  you  !  " 

"  Are  you  ill?"  said  Roumestan. 

"  111  >  not  much  !  " 

*'  Then  what  are  you  doing  here?  " 

"You  see  I  am  taking  stock  of  things,"  and 
then  he  added,  to  explain  his  thought :  **  I  have 
so  many  plans  in  my  head,  so  many  inventions  ! 
Now  and  then  I  get  dispersed  and  lose  myself;  it 
is  only  when  I  lie  abed  that  I  can  gather  myself 
together  a  little." 

Roumestan  looked  about  for  a  chair,  but  none 
was  there  except  the  single  one  in  use  as  a  night 
table ;  it  was  covered  with  books  and  newspapers 
and  had  a  candlestick  wobbling  on  top  of  them  all. 
He  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

**  Why  do  we  never  see  anything  more  of 
you?" 

*'  Pshaw !    you    must    be    joking.     After    what 


New  Years  Day.  347 

happened  I  could  not  meet  your  wife  face  to  face. 
Just  think  a  Httle  !  There  I  was  right  before  her, 
the  codfish  a  la  brandade  in  my  hand.  It  took  ,a 
mighty  lot  of  coolness,  I  can  tell  you,  not  to  let 
everything  drop." 

"  Rosalie  is  no  longer  at  the  Ministry,"  said 
Numa  quite  overwhelmed. 

"  You  astonish  me ;  do  you  mean  to  say  that  it 
has  not  been  arranged?" 

And  indeed  it  did  not  seem  possible  to  him 
that  Madame  Numa,  a  person  of  so  much  good 
sense  ...  for  after  all,  what  was  all  this  business 
anyhow?     "  Come  now,  just  a  mere  fancy !  " 

The  other  interrupted  him : 

**  You  don't  understand  her  —  she  is  an  im- 
placable woman  —  the  perfect  image  of  her  father 
—  Northern  race,  my  dear  fellow  —  with  them  it 
is  not  as  it  is  with  us,  where  the  greatest  anger 
evaporates  in  gesticulations  and  threats  and  then 
there  is  nothing  left  and  we  face  about  But 
they  keep  everything  in  mind;   it  is  terrible." 

He  did  not  say  that  she  had  already  forgiven 
him  once  before ;  and  then,  in  order  to  escape 
from  his  sorrowful  thoughts : 

*'  Get  your  clothes  on ;  you  must  come  and  dine 
with  me." 

While  Bompard  was  making  his  toilet  out  in 
the  corridor  the  Minister  looked  about  the  man- 
sard room  lit  by  a  little  window  like  a  tobacco-box, 
over  which  the  melting  snow  was  running.  Pity 
seized  him  face  to  face  with  this  penury,  these 
damp  rags,  the  whitewashed  paper  and  little  stove 


34^  Nunia  Roumestan^ 

worn  with  rust  and  fireless  notwithstanding  the 
cold.  And  he  asked  himself,  used  as  he  was  to 
the  sumptuousness  of  his  palace,  how  people 
could  live  in  such  a  place? 

**  Have  you  seen  the  gardeen  f  "  cried  Bompard 
joyfully  from  his  basin. 

His  garden  was  the  leafless  tops  of  three  plane- 
trees  which  could  not  be  seen  unless  one  stood 
upon  the  solitary  chair  in  the  room. 

"  And  my  little  museum?  " 

His  museum  he  called  a  few  ticketed  knick- 
knacks  upon  a  board,  a  brick,  a  short  pipe  in 
brierwood,  a  rusty  knife-blade  and  an  ostrich 
Q^^  —  but  the  brick  came  from  the  Alhambra, 
the  sword  had  been  used  in  the  vendettas  of  a 
famous  Corsican  bandit,  the  short  pipe  bore  an 
inscription,  *'  Pipe  of  a  Morocco  criminal,"  and 
finally  the  ostrich  egg  represented  the  vanishing 
of  a  beautiful  dream,  all  that  remained  —  along 
with  a  few  laths  and  bits  of  plaster  heaped  in  a 
corner — of  the  famous  Bompard  Incubator  and 
the  scheme  for  artificial  hatching.  But  now, 
my  dear  boy,  there  is  something  much  better 
on  hand  —  a  marvellous  scheme — millions  in 
it  —  which  he  was  not  at  liberty  to  explain  at 
present. 

**  What  is  it  you  are  looking  at  ?  That  ?  — 
That  is  my  brevet  of  membership  —  ^/,  yes, 
membership  in  the  Ai'oli." 

This  club  of  the  Afoli  had  for  its  purpose  the 
bringing  together  once  a  month  of  all  the  Southern- 
ers   living    in    Paris,    in   order   to    eat   a    dinner 


New   Years  Day.  349 

cooked  with  garlic,  a  way  of  never  losing  either 
the  fragrance  or  the  accent  of  home.  It  was  a 
tremendous  organization  —  a  President  of  Honor, 
Presidents,  Vice-Presidents,  Seniors,  Questors, 
Treasurers,  all  furnished  with  their  diplomas  as 
members  brave  with  silver  streamers,  and  the 
flower  of  the  leek  as  decoration  upon  rose-colored 
paper.  This  precious  document  was  displayed 
on  the  wall  alongside  of  advertisements  of  every 
sort  of  color,  sales  of  houses,  railway  placards  and 
so  forth,  which  Bompard  liked  to  have  always 
under  his  nose,  in  order,  as  he  ingenuously  re- 
marked, "■  to  do  his  liver  good."  There  might 
one  read :  "  Chateau  to  sell,  one  hundred  and 
fifty  hectares,  meadows,  hunting,  river,  pond  full 
of  fish  .  .  .  Lovely  little  property  in  Touraine, 
vineyards,  luzernes,  mill-on-the-Cize  .  .  .  Round 
trip  through  Switzerland,  through  Italy,  to  Lago 
Maggiore,  to  the  Borromean  Islands  .  .  ,"  These 
things  excited  him  just  as  much  as  if  he  had 
had  fine  landscapes  in  oil  hanging  on  the  wall. 
He  believed  he  was  in  these  places  —  and  he  was 
there ! 

''By  Jove!"  said  Roumestan  with  a  shade  of 
envy  of  this  wretched  believer  in  chimeras,  so 
happy  in  his  rags  — "  You  have  a  tremendous 
imagination.  Come,  are  you  ready?  Let's  get 
down.     It  is  frightfully  cold  up  here." 

After  a  few  turns  through  the  brilliant  streets 
across  the  jolly  mob  of  the  boulevards  the  two 
friends  settled  themselves  down  in  the  heady, 
radiating  warmth  of  a  little  room  in  a  big  restau- 


350  Numa  Roumestan, 

rant,  in  front  of  oysters  and  a  bottle  of  Chateau- 
Yquem  very  carefully  uncorked. 

**  To  your  health,  my  comrade  —  I  pray  that  it 
may  be  good  and  happy  forever." 

*'  Te  !  why  it 's  a  fact,"  said  Bompard ;  "  we 
have  n't  kissed  each  other  yet." 

Across  the  table  they  gave  each  other  a  hug 
with  moistened  eyes  and  Roumestan  felt  himself 
quite  gay  again,  despite  the  wrinkled  and  swarthy 
hide  of  the  Circassian.  Ever  since  morning  he 
had  wanted  to  kiss  somebody.  Besides,  think  of 
all  the  years  they  had  known  each  other  —  thirty 
years  of  their  life  in  front  of  them  on  that  table- 
cloth—  and  through  the  vapor  rising  from  delicate 
dishes  and  over  the  straw  wrappers  of  delicious 
wines  they  recalled  their  days  of  youth,  their  fra- 
ternal recollections,  races  and  picnics,  saw  once 
more  their  own  boyish  faces  and  interlarded  their 
effusions  with  words  in  dialect  which  brought  them 
still  closer  together. 

'' T' en  souvenes,  digof  (I  say,  do  you  re- 
member ?) 

In  a  room  near  by  could  be  heard  a  noise  of 
high  laughter  and  little  screams. 

"  To  the  devil  with  females,"  said  Roumestan ; 
*'  there  is  nothing  worth  while  but  friendship  !  " 

And  then  they  drank  to  each  other  once  more ; 
nevertheless  their  talk  turned  in  another  direction : 
"And  how  about  the  little  girl?  "  asked  Bompard, 
winking  his  eye.     "  How  is  she  getting  on?  " 

"  O,  of  course,  I  have  not  seen  her  again,  you 
know." 


New  Years  Day.  351 

**  Of  course  not,  of  course  not,"  said  the  other 
turning  suddenly  very  serious  and  putting  on  a 
solemn  face. 

Presently  a  piano  behind  the  partition  began 
to  play  scraps  of  waltzes,  fashionable  quadrilles 
and  bars  of  music  from  operettas,  now  crazy  and 
now  languid.  They  stopped  talking  in  order  to 
listen,  puUing  off  the  withered  grapes,  and  Numa, 
all  of  whose  sensations  appeared  to  have  two 
faces  and  to  be  swung  upon  a  pivot,  began  to 
think  about  his  wife  and  his  child  and  his  lost 
happiness.  So  he  must  needs  unbosom  himself 
at  the  top  of  his  voice  with  his  elbows  on  the 
table. 

"  Eleven  years  of  intimacy,  trust  and  tender- 
ness —  all  that  flashed  away  and  vanished  in 
a  minute !  how  can  it  be  possible?  ah,  RosaHe, 
Rosalie  —  " 

No  one  could  ever  know  what  she  had  been  to 
him,  and  he  himself  had  not  thoroughly  under- 
stood it  until  after  her  departure.  Such  an  up- 
right spirit,  such  a  straightforward  heart!  And 
what  shoulders  and  what  arms !  No  little  ginger- 
bread doll  like  little  Bachellery;  something  full 
and  amber-tinted  and  delicate  — 

"  Besides,  don't  you  see,  my  dear  comrade, 
there's  no  denying  that  when  we  are  young  we 
need  surprises  and  adventures  —  meetings  in  a 
hurry,  sharpened  by  the  fear  of  being  caught, 
staircases  one  comes  down  on  all  fours  with  one  s 
boots  in  one's  arms  — all  that  is  part  of  love. 
But  at  our  age  what  we  desire  above  everything 


35^  Numa  Roumestan, 

else  is  peace  and  what  the  philosophers  call 
security  in  pleasure.  It  is  only  marriage  which 
can  give  you  that." 

He  jumped  up  all  of  a  sudden,  threw  down  his 
napkin :   "  Off  with  us,  t^  /  " 

•*  And  we  are  going —  ?  "  asked  the  impassible 
Bompard. 

"  To  walk  by  under  her  window  just  as  I  did 
twelve  years  ago  —  to  this,  my  dear  boy,  is  he 
reduced,  the  grand  Master  of  the  University  —  " 

Under  the  arcaded  way  of  the  Place  Royale, 
whose  square  garden  covered  with  snow  formed 
a  white  quadrilateral  within  its  iron  fence,  these 
two  friends  walked  up  and  down  for  a  long  while, 
spying  out  in  the  broken  sky-line  formed  by  the 
Louis  XIII  roofs,  chimneys  and  balconies  the 
lofty  windows  of  the  Hotel  Le  Quesnoy. 

"  To  think  that  she  is  over  there,"  sighed 
Roumestan,  "  so  near  to  me,  and  yet  I  may  not 
see  her !  " 

Bompard  was  shivering  with  his  feet  in  the  mud 
and  did  not  appreciate  very  greatly  this  senti- 
mental excursion ;  in  order  to  bring  it  to  a  close 
he  used  strategy,  and  knowing  well  that  Numa  was 
a  soft  one,  in  deadly  fear  of  the  slightest  illness : 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  catch  cold,  Numa,"  insinu- 
ated he  like  the  traitor  he  was. 

The  Southerner  was  struck  with  fear,  and  they 
quickly  returned  to  the  carriage. 

She  was  there  indeed,  in  that  same  drawing- 
room  where  he  had  seen  her  for  the  first  time. 


New  Years  Day,  353 

The  furniture  was  just  the  same  and  held  the 
same  place,  having  reached  that  age  when  fur- 
niture, like  temperaments,  cannot  be  renewed. 
Scarcely  were  there  a  few  more  faded  folds  in  the 
fawn-colored  hangings  and  a  film  over  the  dull 
reflections  from  the  mirrors  like  that  one  sees  on 
deserted  ponds  which  nothing  ever  touches.  The 
faces  of  the  two  old  people  under  the  two- 
branched  candlesticks  at  the  card-table  in  com- 
pany with  their  usual  partners  showed  likewise  a 
little  of  the  wear  and  tear  of  life.  Madame  Le 
Quesnoy's  features  were  puffy  and  drooping  as 
if  the  fibre  had  been  taken  out  of  them,  and  the 
President's  pallor  was  still  more  pallid  and  still 
prouder  was  the  revolt  that  he  preserved  in  the 
bitter  blue  of  his  eyes.  Seated  near  a  big  arm- 
chair, the  cushions  of  which  were  still  crushed 
down  by  a  light  weight,  her  sister  having  gone  to 
bed,  Rosalie  continued  in  a  low  voice  that  read- 
ing aloud  which  she  had  been  giving  a  moment 
before  for -the  benefit  of  her  sister,  reading  on 
in  a  low  voice  through  the  silence  of  whist  bro- 
ken by  the  half-words  and  interjections  of  the 
players. 

It  was  a  book  belonging  to  her  youth,  one  of 
those  poets  of  nature  whom  her  father  had  taught 
her  to  love.  And  she  perceived  the  whole  past  of 
her  life  as  a  young  girl  rising  up  from  the  pure 
white  of  the  stanzas  as  well  as  the  fresh  and  pene- 
trating impression  of  the  books  one  has  read  first 

in  life. 

23 


354  Numa  Roumestan. 

La  belle  auraitpu  sans  souci 
Manger  ses  /raises  loin  dHci 

Au  bord d''une  claire  fontaine 
Avec  unjoyeux  7noissonneur 
Qui  r aur ait  prise  sur  son  coeur^ 

Elle  aurait  eu  bien  ?noins  de  peine, 

(In  happy  ease  that  damsel  fair 
Her  berries  might  have  eaten  where 

A  fountain  plashes  o'er  a  stone ; 
Some  harvester  at  noontide  rest 
Had  clasped  her  to  his  stalwart  breast  — 

Ah  !  far  less  woe  would  she  have  known.) 


The  book  slipped  from  her  hands  upon  her 
knees,  the  last  two  lines  re-echoing  their  mournful 
song  to  the  very  depths  of  her  being,  recalling  to 
her  the  wretchedness  which  for  one  moment  she 
had  forgot.  There  lies  the  cruelty  that  poets 
exercise ;  they  lull  and  appease  you,  but  then  with 
one  word  they  envenom  again  the  wound  which 
they  were  by  way  of  healing. 

She  saw  herself  as  she  was  in  that  same  place 
twelve  years  before  when  Numa  paid  his  addresses 
to  her  with  great  big  bouquets  of  roses;  when, 
clothed  with  her  twenty  years  and  the  wish  to  be 
beautiful  for  his  sake,  from  that  very  window 
she  watched  him  coming,  just  as  one  watches  one's 
own  destiny.  In  every  corner  of  the  house  there 
remained  echoes  of  his  warm  and  tender  voice,  so 
ready  to  lie.  If  one  looked  a  moment  among  the 
music  scattered  about  the  piano  one  would  find 
the  duos  which  they  sang  together;  everything 
which  surrounded  her  seemed  accomplices  of  the 


New  Years  Day,  35^ 

disaster  in  her  failure  of  a  life.  She  thought  of 
what  that  life  might  have  been  by  the  side  of 
an  honest  man  and  loyal  comrade,  not  brilliant 
and  ambitious,  but  enjoying  a  simple  and  hidden 
existence  in  which  they  would  have  courageously 
borne  all  bitternesses  and  all  sorrow  to  the  very 
end  of  their  days. 

** Elle  aurait  eu  bien  moins  de  peine'*  (Ah,  far 
less  woe  would  she  have  known.) 

She  had  plunged  so  deep  into  her  dream  that 
when  the  whist  party  ended  and  her  parents'  old 
friends  had  left,  almost  without  her  remarking  it, 
answering  mechanically  the  friendly  and  pitying 
farewells  that  each  one  gave  her,  she  failed  to  per- 
ceive that  the  President,  instead  of  conducting  his 
friends  to  the  front  door  as  had  been  his  habit 
every  evening,  no  matter  what  the  time  or  season, 
was  marching  up  and  down  the  drawing-room. 
At  last  he  stopped  before  her  and  put  a  question 
to  her  in  a  voice  which  caused  her  all  of  a  sudden 
to  tremble : 

**  Well,  my  child,  where  are  you  in  this  matter? 
have  you  made  up  your  mind?" 

"Why,  dear  father,!  am  exactly  where  I  was 
before." 

He  seated  himself  beside  her,  took  her  hand  and 
attempted  to  do  the  persuasive : 

"  I  have  been  to  see  your  husband  ...  he  con- 
sents to  everything  .  .  .  you  can  live  here  with  me 
the  entire  time  that  your  mother  and  sister  shall 
be  away,  and  even  afterwards  if  your  anger  against 
him   still   continues.     But   I   tell  you   again,  this 


35 6  Numa  Roumestan, 

suit  for  separation  is  impossible !  I  do  hope  that 
you  will  not  insist  upon  it." 

Rosalie  tossed  her  head. 

"  My  dear  father,  you  do  not  understand  that 
man.  He  will  employ  all  his  cunning  to  sur- 
round me  and  get  me  back  again,  make  me  his 
dupe,  a  voluntary  dupe,  who  has  accepted  an  un- 
dignified and  degraded  existence.  Your  daugh- 
ter is  not  a  woman  of  that  sort.  I  demand  a 
complete  and  irreparable  rupture,  openly  an-, 
nounced  to  all  the  world." 

From  the  card-table  where  she  sat  ranging  the 
cards  and  markers  Mme.  Le  Quesnoy,  without 
turning  round,  gently  interposed: 

'*  Forgive,  my  child,  forgive." 

**  O  yes,  that  is  easy  to  say  when  one  has  a 
husband  as  upright  and  loyal  as  yours,  when  one 
never  has  known  the  suffocating  effect  of  lies  and 
treason,  drawing  their  plots  about  one.  He  is  a 
hypocrite,  I  tell  you.  He  has  his  Chamb^ry 
morality  and  his  morality  of  the  Rue  de  Londres. 
His  words  and  his  acts  are  never  in  accord  —  two 
ways  of  speech,  two  faces  —  all  the  seductive  and 
catlike  nature  of  his  race  —  in  a  word,  the  man  of 
the  South  !  " 

And  then,  losing  her  head  as  her  anger  ex- 
ploded, she  said : 

"Besides,  I  had  already  forgiven  him  once. 
Yes,  two  years  after  my  marriage.  I  never  told 
you  about  it,  I  have  never  spoken  to  a  single  per- 
son. I  was  very  unhappy;  and  then  we  only 
remained  together  because  of  an   oath  he  made 


New  Years  Day,  357 

me. — But  he  only  lives  on  perjuries!  And  now 
it  is  completely  at  an  end,  completely  at  an 
end !  " 

The  President  did  not  insist  further,  but  slowly 
rose  and  went  over  to  his  wife.  There  was  a 
whispering  together  and  something  like  a  debate, 
surprising  enough  between  that  authoritative  man 
and  this  humble,  annihilated  creature :  "  You 
must  tell  her.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  I  want  you  to  tell 
her.  .  .  ."  Without  adding  another  word  M.  Le 
Quesnoy  left  the  room  and  his  sonorous  regular 
step,  his  step  of  every  evening,  could  be  heard 
mounting  the  solitary  vaulted  stairs,  through  all 
the  solemn  spaces  of  the  grand  drawing-room. 

"  Come  here,"  said  her  mother  to  the  daughter 
with  a  tender  gesture,  "  nearer  to  me,  still  nearer." 

She  would  never  dare  to  tell  her  aloud;  and 
even  when  they  were  so  close  and  heart  was  beat- 
ing against  heart,  she  still  hesitated : 

"Listen,  dear;  it  is  he  who  demands  it  —  he 
wants  me  to  tell  you  that  your  destiny  is  the  des- 
tiny of  all  women,  and  that  even  your  mother  has 
not  escaped  it." 

Rosalie  was  overwhelmed  with  that  secret  con- 
fided to  her  which  she  had  divined  in  a  flash  at  the 
first  words  of  her  mother,  whilst  her  old  and  very 
dear  voice  broken  with  tears  could  hardly  articu- 
late the  very  sorrowful,  very  sorrowful  story,  similar 
in  every  way  to  her  own  —  the  crime  of  her  hus- 
band from  the  earliest  years  of  their  housekeeping, 
just  as  if  the  motto  of  these  wretched  coupled  be- 
ings must  be  '*  Deceive  me  or  else  I  deceive  thee  !  " 


358  Numa  Roumestan, 

—  the  man  hastening  to  begin  the  evil  in  order  to 
maintain  his  superior  rank. 

"  Enough,  enough,  Mamma.  Oh,  how  you  are 
hurting  me !  " 

This  father  whom  she  so  admired,  whom  she 
placed  far  above  any  other  man,  this  sterlingly 
honest  and  firm  magistrate !  But  what  kind  of 
creatures  were  men,  anyhow?  At  the  North  and 
down  South,  all  were  alike,  traitors  and  perjurers. 
She  who  had  not  wept  a  tear  because  of  the 
treason  of  her  husband  now  felt  herself  invaded  by 
a  flood  of  hot  tears  because  of  this  humiliation  of 
her  father.  .  .  .  And  so  they  were  counting  upon 
this,  were  they?  to  make  her  yield!  No,  a 
hundred  times  no ;  she  would  never  forgive.  Ha, 
ha!  so  that  was  marriage,  was  it?  Very  well;  dis- 
honor and  disdain  upon  marriage  then !  What 
cared  she  for  fear  of  scandal  and  the  proprieties  of 
the  world,  since  it  was  a  rivalry  as  to  who  should 
treat  them  with  the  most  contempt? 

Her  mother,  taking  her  in  her  arms  and  pressing 
her  against  her  heart,  endeavored  to  soften  the  re- 
volt of  this  young  conscience  wounded  in  all  its 
behefs,  in  its  dearest  superstitions  ;  she  caressed 
her  gently  as  if  she  were  rocking  a  child : 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  will  forgive.  You  will  do  as 
I  did  —  you  see  it  is  our  destiny.  Ah,  I  also 
had  a  terrible  bitterness  in  me  during  the  first 
moments  and  a  great  longing  to  throw  myself  out 
of  the  window.  But  I  thought  of  my  child,  my 
poor  little  Andrew  who  was  just  coming  to  life, 
who  since  then  grew  up  and   died,  loving  and   re- 


New   Years  Day.  359 

specting  all  his  family.  So  you  too  will  pardon  in 
order  that  your  child  shall  have  the  same  happy 
tranquillity  which  my  own  courage  secured  to  you, 
so  that  he  shall  not  be  one  of  those  half-orphans 
whom  parents  share  between  them,  whom  they 
bring  up  in  hatred  and  disdain  to  one  and  the 
other.  You  will  also  remember  that  your  father 
and  mother  have  already  suffered  tremendously 
and  that  other  bitter  sorrows  are  menacing  them 
now  —  " 

She  stopped  short,  suffocated  by  feeling,  and 
then  in  a  solemn  accent : 

,  ''  My  daughter,  all  sorrows  become  softened  and 
all  wounds  are  capable  of  being  cured.  There 
is  only  one  sorrow  which  is  irreparable  and  that  is 
the  death  of  the  person  we  love." 

In  the  failure  of  her  agitated  forces  that  followed 
these  last  words  Rosalie  felt  the  figure  of  her 
mother  grow  in  grandeur  by  as  much  as  her  father 
had  lost  greatness  in  her  eyes.  She  even  re- 
proached herself  for  having  so  long  misunderstood 
the  sublime  and  resigned  self-abnegation  con- 
cealed beneath  that  apparent  feebleness  which  was 
the  result  of  bitter  blows.  Thus  it  came  about 
that  for  her  mother's  sake,  for  her  mother's  sake 
alone,  she  renounced  the  lawsuit  in  revenge  of  her 
outraged  rights,  and  renounced  it  in  gentle  words, 
almost  as  if  asking  pardon :  "  Only  do  not  insist 
that  I  go  back  to  him  —  I  should  be  too  ashamed. 
I  will  accompany  my  sister  to  the  South.  After- 
wards, later,  we  shall  see." 

The  President  came  back  again,  and  when  he  saw 


360  Numa  RoMmestan, 

the  enthusiasm  with  which  the  old  mother  was 
throwing  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  her  child  he 
understood  that  their  cause  was  won. 

**  Thank  you,  my  daughter,"  he  murmured,  very 
much  touched.  Then  after  a  little  hesitation  he 
approached  Rosalie  for  the  usual  kiss  of  good- 
night. But  the  brow  which  ordinarily  was  so  ten- 
derly offered  moved  aside  and  his  kiss  lost  itself  in 
her  hair. 

"  Good-night,  father." 

He  said  nothing  in  return,  but  went  aw^ay  hang- 
ing his  head  with  a  convulsive  shudder  in  his  high 
shoulders.  He  who  during  his  life  had  accused  so 
many  people,  had  condemned  so  many  —  he,  the 
First  Magistrate  of  France,  had  found  a  judge  in 
his  turn. 


Hortense  Le  Quesnoy,  361 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HORTENSE   LE  QUESNOY. 

Through  one  of  those  sudden  shiftings  of  the 
scenery  which  are  so  frequent  in  the  comedy  of 
Parliamentary  government,  the  meeting  of  January 
8th,  during  which  it  was  to  be  expected  that  the 
good  luck  of  Roumestan  would  go  all  to  pieces, 
procured  for  him  on  the  contrary  a  striking  success. 
When  he  marched  up  the  steps  of  the  platform  in 
order  to  answer  the  cruel  sarcasms  that  Rougeot 
had  been  getting  off  concerning  the  management  of 
the  opera,  the  mess  that  the  department  of  the 
fine  arts  had  got  into,  the  emptiness  of  those  re- 
forms which  had  been  trumpeted  abroad  by  the 
supporters  of  the  clerical  Ministry,  Numa  had  just 
learned  that  his  wife  had  left  Paris,  having  re- 
nounced her  lawsuit. 

This  happy  news,  which  was  known  to  him  alone, 
filled  his  answer  with  a  confidence  that  radiated 
from  his  whole  being.  He  took  a  haughty  air, 
then  a  confidential,  then  a  solemn  one ;  he  alluded 
to  calumnies  which  are  whispered  in  people's  ears 
and  to  some  scandal  that  was  expected: 
"  Gentlemen,  there  will  be  no  scandal !  " 
The  tone  with  which  he  said  this  threw  a  lively 
disappointment  over  the  galleries  crammed  with 


362  Numa  Roumestan, 

all  the  sensation-loving,  pretty  women,  mad  for 
strong  emotions,  who  had  come  there  in  charming 
costumes  to  see  the  conqueror  devoured.  The  in- 
terpellation by  Rougeot  was  torn  to  bits,  the  South 
seduced  once  more  the  North,  Gaul  for  yet  another 
time  was  conquered  !  —  and  when  Roumestan  ran 
down  the  steps  again,  worn  out,  perspiring  and 
almost  without  voice,  he  had  the  proud  satisfaction 
of  seeing  his  party — but  a  moment  ago  so  cold 
and  even  hostile  —  and  his  colleagues  in  the  Cabi- 
net, who  had  been  accusing  him  of  having  com- 
promised them,  surround  him  with  acclamations 
and  enthusiastic  flatteries.  And  in  the  intoxica- 
tion of  his  success  the  relinquKshment  of  her  ven- 
geance on  the  part  of  his  wife  kept  returning  to  him 
always  in  the  light  of  a  supreme  salvation. 

He  felt  himself  relieved  and  gay  and  expansive, 
so  much  so  that  on  returning  to  the  city  the 
thought  passed  through  his  mind  to  run  around  to 
the  Rue  de  Londres.  O,  of  course,  entirely  as  a 
friend  !  in  order  to  reassure  that  poor  little  girl  who 
had  been  as  anxious  as  he  over  the  results  of  the 
interpellation,  who  bore  their  common  exile  with 
so  much  bravery,  sending  him  in  her  unformed 
writing,  dryed  with  face-powder,  delightful  little 
letters  in  which  she  related  her  existence  day  by 
day  and  exhorted  him  to  patience  and  prudence. 

**  No,  no;  do  not  come  here,  poor  darling  — 
write  to  me  and  think  of  me  —  I  shall  be  brave." 

It  happened  that  the  Opera  was  not  open  that 
evening,  and  during  the  short  passage  from  the 
station  to  the  little  house  in  the  Rue  de  Londres 


Hot  tense  Le  Quesnoy,  363 

Numa  was  thinking,  while  he  clutched  in  his  hand 
that  little  key  which  had  been  a  temptation  to  him 
more  than  once  for  the  last  fortnight : 

"  How  happy  she  is  going  to  be !  " 

Having  opened  the  door  and  shut  it  noiselessly, 
he  suddenly  found  himself  in  deep  obscurity,  for 
the  gas  had  not  been  lit.  This  neglect  gave  to  the 
little  house  an  appearance  of  mourning  and  widow- 
hood which  flattered  him.  The  thick  carpet  on 
the  stair  softening  his  tread  as  he  ran  up,  he 
reached  without  being  in  any  way  announced  the 
drawing-room  hung  with  Japanese  stuffs  of  the 
most  deliciously  false  shades  just  suited  to  the  arti- 
ficial gold  in  the  tresses  of  the  little  girl. 

"Who  is  there?"  asked  a  pretty  voice  but  an 
angry  one  from  the  divan. 

*'  It  is  I,  by  Jove  !  —  " 

He  heard  a  cry  and  a  sudden  springing  up,  and 
in  the  uncertain  light  of  the  evening  by  the  white 
light  of  her  skirts,  the  little  singing  girl  stood  up 
straight  in  the  greatest  fright,  whilst  handsome 
Lappara  in  a  crushed  but  motionless  position 
stood  there  looking  hard  at  the  flowers  in  the 
carpet  to  avoid  the  eyes  of  his  master.  There  was 
no  denying  the  situation. 

"  Gutter-snipes  !  "  roared  Roumestan  hoarsely, 
seized  by  one  of  those  suffocating  rages  during 
which  the  beast  growls  inside  the  man  with  a 
desire  to  tear  in  pieces  and  to  bite  far  more  than  to 
strike. 

Without  knowing  how  it  was  he  found  himself 
outside  the  house,  hurried  away  by  fear  of  his  own 


364  Nivma  Roumestait, 

frightful  wrath.  In  that  very  place  and  at  th^ 
very  hour  some  days  before,  his  wife,  just  like  him- 
self, had  received  the  blow  of  treachery,  the  vulgar 
and  the  outrageous  wound,  but  a  far  more  cruel 
and  utterly  unmerited  one.  But  he  never  thought 
of  that  for  a  moment,  filled  as  he  was  with  indigna- 
tion at  the  personal  injury.  No,  never  had  such  a 
villainy  been  seen  beneath  the  sun  !  This  Lappara 
whom  he  loved  like  a  child  !  This  scoundrel  of  a 
girl  for  whose  sake  he  had  gone  the  length  of  com- 
promising his  entire  political  fortune ! 

''  Gutter-snipes  !  —  gutter-snipes  !  "  he  repeated 
aloud  in  the  empty  street  as  he  hurried  through  a 
fine,  penetrating  rain,  which  in  fact  calmed  him  far 
better  than  the  finest  logic. 

"  Te  !  why,  I  am  all  wet  —  " 

He  hurried  to  the  cab-stand  on  the  Rue  d'Amster- 
dam,  and  in  the  crowd  which  collects  in  that  place 
owing  to  the  constant  arrival  of  trains  at  the  station 
he  came  up  against  the  hard  and  tightly  buttoned 
uniform  of  General  the  Marquis  d'Espaillon. 

"  Bravo,  my  dear  colleague  !  I  was  not  in  the 
Chamber ;  but  they  tell  me  that  you  charged  the 
enemy  like  a and  routed  him,  horse  and  foot." 

As  he  stood  as  straight  as  a  lath  under  his 
umbrella,  the  old  fellow  had  a  devilish  lively  eye 
and  moustaches  gallantly  twisted  to  the  correct 
angle  for  the  evening  of  a  lucky  love  adventure. 

**  G —  d — •  m —  s — !  "  he  went  on,  leaning  over 
toward  Numa's  ear  with  a  tone  of  confidence  in 
gallantry,  "  you  at  least  can  boast  of  understanding 
women,  by  Jove !  " 


Horteiise  Le  Quesnoy,  365 

And  as  the  other  looked  at  him  sharply,  suppos- 
ing that  he  was  speaking  sarcastically: 

"  Why  yes,  don't  you  remember  our  discussion 
about  love?  You  were  perfectly  right.  It  is  not  only 
the  fops  and  dudes  that  please  the  women  —  I  Ve  got 
one  now  on  the  string.  Never  swallowed  a  better 
than  this  one  —  G —  d —  m —  s — ,  not  even  when  I 
was  twenty-five  and  had  just  left  the  Academy." 

Roumestan  listened  to  him  with  his  hand  on  the 
door  of  his  cab  and  thought  that  he  was  smiling  at 
the  old  lovesick  fool,  but  what  he  produced  was 
nothing  more  than  a  horrible  grimace.  His 
theories  about  women  were  just  then  so  extraordi- 
narily upset.  —  Glory?  genius?  O,  come  now! 
Those  are  not  the  things  that  make  them  care  for 
you.  He  felt  himself  outwitted  and  disgusted, 
and  had  a  desire  to  weep  and  then  a  longing  to 
sleep  in  order  not  to  think  any  more,  especially 
not  to  recall  further  the  frightened  laugh  of  that 
little  rascally  girl  standing  straight  before  him  with 
her  waist  in  disorder  and  all  her  neck  red  and 
trembling  from  the  interrupted  kisses. 

But  in  the  agitated  course  of  our  life,  hours  and 
events  link  themselves  together  and  follow  each 
other  like  waves.  In  place  of  the  nice  rest  which 
he  hoped  to  obtain  on  returning  home  a  new  blow 
was  awaiting  him  at  the  Ministry,  a  telegraphic 
despatch  which  Mejean  had  opened  in  his  absence 
and  now  handed  him,  deeply  moved : 

Hortense    dying.     She   wishes    to    see   you.      Come 

quickly. 

Widow  Portal. 


366  Numa  Roumestan, 

The  whole  of  his  frightful  egotism  broke  from 
him  with  the  dismayed  exclamation : 

*'  Oh,  what  devoted  fidelity  am  I  losing  in 
her !  " 

Then  he  thought  of  his  wife  who  was  present  at 
that  death-bed  and  had  allowed  Aunt  Portal  to 
send  the  despatch.  Her  wrath  had  not  yielded 
and  probably  never  would  give  way.  Neverthe- 
less, if  she  had  been  willing,  how  thoroughly  would 
he  not  have  recommenced  life  at  her  side,  giving  up 
all  his  imprudent  follies  and  becoming  a  straight- 
forward and  almost  austere  family  man !  And 
then,  never  giving  a  thought  to  the  harm  that  he 
had  done,  he  reproached  Rosalie  for  her  hardness 
of  heart,  as  if  she  were  treating  him  unjustly. 

He  passed  the  night  correcting  the  proofs  of  his 
speech  and  interrupting  work  every  now  and  then 
to  write  bits  of  letters  to  that  little  scoundrel  of  an 
Alice  Bachellery,  letters  either  raging  or  sarcastic, 
scolding  or  abusive.  Mejean  was  also  up  all  night 
in  the  Secretary's  office  ;  overwhelmed  with  bitter 
sorrow,  he  tried  to  find  forgetfulness  in  unremit- 
ting toil,  and  Numa,  who  was  pleased  with  his 
company,  experienced  a  veritable  pain  because  he 
could  not  pour  out  to  him  in  confidence  the  de- 
ception he  had  met  with.  But  then  he  would 
have  been  forced  to  acknowledge  that  he  had 
gone  back  to  her  and  stand  the  ridicule  of  the 
situation. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  not  able  to  hold  out,  and 
in  the  morning  whilst  his  chief  of  cabinet  was  ac- 
companying him  to  the  station  he  committed  to 


Hor tense  Le  Quesnoy,  367 

him  amongst  other  orders  the  charge  of  giving 
Lappara  his  walking-papers.  "  O,  he  is  expect- 
ing it,  you  may  be  sure!  I  caught  him  in  the 
very  act  of  committing  the  blackest  piece  of  in- 
gratitude. —  And  when  I  think  how  kind  I  have 
been  to  him,  to  the  point  of  intending  to  make 
him  —  "he  stopped  short;  would  it  be  believed 
that  he  was  on  the  point  of  telling  the  man  in 
love  with  Hortense  that  he  had  promised  the 
girl's  hand  to  another  person?  Without  going 
further  into  details,  he  declared  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  find  on  his  return  such  a  wretchedly 
immoral  person  at  the  Ministry.  But  on  general 
principles  he  was  heart-broken  at  the  duplicity  of 
the  world  —  all  was  ingratitude  and  egotism.  It 
was  so  bad,  he  would  like  to  toss  them  into  the 
street,  all  his  honors  and  business  matters,  in  order 
to  quit  Paris  and  become  the  keeper  of  a  light- 
house on  a  horrible  crag  in  the  midst  of  the 
ocean. 

*'  You  have  slept  badly,  my  dear  Master,"  said 
Mejean  with  his  tranquil  air. 

"No,  no,  it  is  exactly  as  I  tell  you  —  Paris 
makes  me  sick  at  my  stomach  .  .  ." 

Standing  on  the  platform  near  the  cars,  he 
turned  about  with  a  gesture  of  supreme  disgust 
aimed  at  that  great  city  into  which  the  provinces 
pour  all  their  ambitions  and  concupiscences,  all 
their  boiling  and  sordid  overflow — and  then 
accuse  it  of  degeneracy  and  moral  taint  He  in- 
terrupted his  tirade  and  then,  with  a  bitter  laugh, 
pointing  to  a  wall : 


^68  Numa  Roumestan, 

**  How  he  does  dog  me  everywhere,  that  fellow 
over  there !  " 

On  a  vast  gray  wall  pierced  with  hideous  little 
windows  at  the  angle  of  the  Rue  de  Lyon,  there 
was  the  picture  of  a  wretched  troubadour. 
Washed  out  by  all  the  moisture  of  the  winter  and 
the  filth  from  a  barrack  of  poor  people,  the  adver- 
tisement showed  on  the  second  story  a  frightful 
mess  of  blue,  yellow  and  green  through  which 
one  could  still  see  the  pretentious  and  victorious 
gesture  of  the  tabor-player.  In  Parisian  adver- 
tisements placards  succeed  each  other  quickly, 
one  concealing  the  other;  but  when  they  are  of 
enormous  dimensions,  some  bit  or  end  will  stick 
out;  wherefore  it  happened  that  in  every  corner 
of  Paris  during  the  last  fortnight  the  Minister  had 
found  before  his  eyes  either  a  leg  or  an  arm,  or  a 
bit  of  the  Provencal  cap,  or  an  end  of  the  laced 
peasant's  boots  of  Valmajour.  These  remnants 
threatened  him  even  as  in  that  Provencal  legend 
the  victim  of  a  murder  with  his  various  limbs 
hacked  and  separated  cries  out  against  his  mur- 
derer from  all  the  separate  bits  of  his  body.  But 
in  this  case  he  was  there  entire,  and  the  horrible 
coloring  seen  through  the  chill  morning  air, 
forced  as  it  was  to  receive  unflinchingly  all  kinds 
of  filth  before  it  dropped  away  and  disappeared 
under  a  final  rush  of  wind,  represented  very  well 
the  destiny  of  the  unfortunate  troubadour,  driven 
forever  from  pillar  to  post  through  the  slums  of 
that  Paris  which  he  could  no  longer  quit,  and 
conducting  thQ  farajidole  for  a  mob  recruited  from 


Hortense  Le  Quesnoy.  369 

the  unclassed  and  exiled  ones  and  the  fools,  those 
persons  thirsting  for  notoriety  whose  end  is  the 
hospital,  the  dissection  table  and  the  potter's  field. 

Roumestan  got  into  his  coach  frozen  to  the  very- 
bone  by  that  morning  apparition  and  by  the  cold 
of  his  sleepless  night,  shivering  at  sight  through 
the  car  windows  of  those  mournful  vistas  in  the 
suburbs,  those  iron  bridges  across  streets  that  shone 
with  rain,  those  tall  houses,  barracks  of  wretched- 
ness whose  numberless  windows  were  stuffed  with 
rags,  and  then  those  early  morning  figures,  hollow 
cheeked,  sorrowful  and  sordid,  those  rounded  backs 
and  arms  clutching  breasts  in  order  to  conceal 
something  or  warm  themselves,  those  taverns  with 
signs  in  endless  variety  and  the  thick  forest  of 
factory  chimneys  vomiting  smoke  that  falls  at  once 
to  earth.  After  that  came  the  first  gardens  of  the 
outer  suburb,  black  of  soil,  the  coarse  mortar  in 
the  low  farm  buildings,  villas  closely  shuttered  in 
the  midst  of  their  little  gardens  reduced  by  the 
winter  to  copses  as  dry  as  the  bare  wood  of  the 
kiosks  and  arbors,  and  then,  farther  on,  the  coun- 
try roads  broken  up  by  puddles,  where  one  saw 
files  of  overflowing  tanks  —  a  horizon  the  color 
of  rust,  and  flights  of  crows  over  the  deserted 
fields. 

He  closed  his  eyes  to  keep  out  this  sorrowful 
Northern  winter  through  which  the  whistle  of  the 
locomotive  passed  with  long  wails  of  distress,  but 
his  own  thoughts  under  his  lowered  eyelids  were 
in  no  respect  happier.  So  near  again  to  that  fool 
of  a  girl  —  for  the   bond   that  held   him   to   her 

24 


370  Numa  Roumestan, 

still  contracted  his  heart  though  it  had  broken! 
—  he  pondered  over  all  the  different  things  he  had 
done  for  her  and  what  the  support  of  an  oper- 
atic star  had  cost  him  for  the  last  six  months. 
In  that  life  of  the  boards  everything  is  false,  but 
especially  success,  which  is  only  worth  as  much  as 
one  buys.  The  demands  of  the  claque,  cost  of 
tickets  at  the  office,  of  dinners,  receptions,  pres- 
ents to  reporters,  publicity  in  all  its  varying  forms, 
all  these  have  their  price ;  then  the  magnificent 
bouquets  at  sight  of  which  the  singer  grows  red 
and  shows  emotion,  gathering  them  up  against 
her  arms  and  nude  neck  and  the  shining  satin  of  her 
gown ;  and  then  the  ovations  prepared  beforehand 
for  the  provincial  tour,  enthusiastic  processions  to 
the  hotel,  serenades  to  the  diva's  balcony  and  all 
the  other  things  calculated  to  dispel  the  gloomy 
indifference  of  the  public  —  ah,  all  these  must  not 
only  be  paid  for  but  paid  high ! 

For  six  months  he  had  gone  along  with  open 
pocketbook,  never  begrudging  the  triumphs  ar- 
ranged for  the  little  girl.  He  was  present  at  nego- 
tiations with  the  chief  of  the  claque  and  the 
advertising  agents  of  the  newspapers,  as  well  as 
the  flower-woman  whose  bouquets  the  diva  and 
her  mother  worked  off  on  him  three  times  without 
his  knowledge  merely  by  decking  them  out  with 
fresh  ribbons;  for  these  Bordeaux  Jewesses  were 
possessed  of  a  vulgar  rapacity  and  a  love  of  trick- 
ery and  expedients  which  caused  them  at  times  to 
remain  at  home  for  entire  days,  clad  in  rags,  old 
jackets  over  flowing  skirts,  with  their  feet  in  ancient 


Hot  tense  Le  Quesnoy,  371 

ball  slippers.  In  fact  it  was  thus  that  Numa  found 
them  oftenest,  passing  their  time  playing  cards 
and  reviling  each  other  as  if  they  were  in  a  van  of 
acrobats  at  a  fair.  For  a  good  many  months  past 
they  had  no  longer  put  on  any  restraint  in  his 
presence.  He  knew  all  the  tricks  and  grimaces  of 
the  diva  and  the  coarseness  natural  to  an  affected 
and  unneat  woman  of  the  South:  also  that  she 
was  ten  years  older  than  her  age  on  the  boards 
and  that  in  order  to  fix  upon  her  face  that  eternal 
smile  in  a  Cupid's  bow  she  went  to  sleep  each 
night  with  her  lips  pulled  up  at  the  corners  and 
streaked  with  coral  lip-paint. 

At  this  point  at  last  he  himself  fell  asleep  —  but 
I  can  assure  you  that  his  mouth  was  not  like  a 
Cupid's  bow;  on  the  contrary  his  every  feature 
was  haggard  from  disgust  and  fatigue,  while  his 
entire  body  was  shaken  by  the  bumps  and  sway- 
ings  to  and  fro  and  by  the  shocks  of  the  express 
train  whirled  under  full  steam  over  the  metals. 

**  Valeince  !  —  Vale'ince  !  " 

He  opened  his  eyes  like  a  child  called  by  his 
mother.  The  South  had  already  begun  to  ap- 
pear; between  the  clouds,  which  the  wind  was 
driving  apart,  deep  blue  abysses  were  dug,  and 
there  was  the  sky !  A  ray  of  sunlight  warmed 
the  car  window  and  among  the  roadside  pines 
one  saw  the  grayness  of  a  few  thin  olive-trees. 
This  produced  a  feehng  of  rest  throughout  the 
sensitive  nature  of  the  Southerner  and  a  complete 
polar  change  of  ideas.  He  was  sorry  that  he  had 
been  so  harsh  to  Lappara.     Think  of  having  de- 


372  Ntima  Roumestan, 

stroyed  the  future  of  that  poor  boy  and  plunged  a 
whole  family  in  grief —  and  for  what?  A  ^^  foutaise^ 
allons  ! "  as  Bompard  said.  There  was  only  one 
way  of  repairing  it  and  correcting  its  look  of  dis- 
missal from  the  Ministry,  and  that  was  the  Cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  And  the  Minister  began 
to  laugh  at  the  idea  of  Lappara's  name  appearing 
in  the  Officiel  with  this  addition,  **  Exceptional 
services."  But  after  all  it  was  an  exceptional  ser- 
vice to  have  delivered  his  chief  from  that  degrad- 
ing connection. 

Orange !  .  .  .  Montelimar  and  its  nougat !  .  .  . 
Voices  were  already  full  of  vibration  and  words 
reinforced  by  lively  gestures.  Waiters  from  the 
restaurant,  paper  sellers  and  station  guards  rushed 
upon  the  train  with  their  eyes  sticking  out  of  their 
heads.  Certainly  this  was  quite  a  different  people 
from  that  which  one  met  thirty  leagues  farther 
North,  and  the  Rhone,  the  broad  Rh6ne,  with  its 
waves  like  a  sea,  glistened  under  the  sunshine  that 
turned  to  gold  the  crenelated  ramparts  of  Avi- 
gnon, whose  bells  —  which  have  never  stopped 
ringing  since  the  days  of  Rabelais  —  saluted  the 
big  political  man  of  Provence  with  their  clear- 
cut  chimes.  Numa  took  possession  of  a  seat  at 
the  buffet  in  front  of  a  little  white  roll,  a  pasty 
and  a  bottle  of  the  well  known  wine  from  the 
Nerte  that  had  ripened  between  the  rocks  and 
was  capable  of  inoculating  even  a  Parisian  with  the 
accent  of  dwellers  among  the  scrub-oak  barrens. 

But  his  natal  atmosphere  rejoiced  his  heart  the 
most  —  when  he  was  able  to  leave  the  main  line  at 


Hortense  Le  Quesnoy,  ^y^ 

Tarascon  and  take  a  seat  in  a  coach  on  the  small 
patriarchal  railway  with  a  single  track  which 
pushes  its  way  into  the  heart  of  Provence  between 
the  branches  of  mulberries  and  olive-trees,  while 
tufts  of  wild  rose  scrape  against  the  side  doors. 
People  were  singing  in  the  coaches;  at  every 
moment  the  train  stopped  in  order  to  allow  a 
flock  of  sheep  to  pass  or  to  pick  up  a  belated 
traveller  or  to  ship  some  parcel  which  a  boy  from 
a  mas  brought  up  at  a  full  run.  And  then  what 
salutations  and  nice  little  bits  of  gossip  between 
the  train  hands  and  the  peasant  women  in  their 
Aries  head-dresses  standing  at  their  doors  or 
washing  clothes  on  the  stone  near  the  well !  At 
the  station  what  cries  and  bustlings  —  an  entire 
village  turning  out  to  conduct  to  the  cars  some 
conscript  or  some  girl  who  was  off  to  the  town 
for  service. 

"  T^I  v^ !  not  good-bye,  dear  lass,  .  .  .  but  be 
very  good,  ait  moinsf 

Then  they  weep  and  embrace  each  other  with- 
out taking  any  notice  of  the  hermit  in  his  cowl  ask- 
ing alms  as  he  leans  against  the  station  fence  and 
mumbles  his  pater-noster ;  then,  enraged  at  receiv- 
ing nothing,  turns  to  go  as  he  throws  his  sack  upon 
his  back. 

"  Well,  there 's  another  pater  gone  to  pot !  " 

That  phrase  catches  and  is  understood,  all  tears 
are  dried  and  the  whole  company  roars  with 
laughter,  the  begging  monk  harder  than  the  rest. 

Hidden  away  in  his  coach  in  order  to  escape 
ovations,  Roumestan  enjoyed  immensely  all  this 


374  Numa  Roumestan, 

jollity.,  pleased  with  the  sight  of  these  countenances 
all  brown  and  hooked-nosed  and  alive  with  emo- 
tion and  sarcasm,  these  big  fellows  with  their 
smart  air,  these  chatos  as  amber-colored  as  the  long 
berries  of  the  muscat  grape,  who  as  they  grow 
older  will  turn  into  these  crones,  black  and 
dried  by  the  sun,  who  seem  to  scatter  a  dust  as 
from  the  tomb  every  time  they  make  one  of  their 
habitual  gestures.  So  zou  then  !  and  allons  !  and 
all  the  en  avants  in  the  world !  Here  he  found 
once  more  his  own  people,  his  changeable  and 
nervous  Provence,  that  race  of  brown  crickets 
always  at  the  door  and  always  singing! 

But  he  himself  was  certainly  a  type  of  them, 
already  recovered  from  his  terrible  despair  of  that 
morning,  from  his  disgust  and  his  love  —  all  swept 
away  at  the  first  puff  of  the  mistral  which  was 
growling  in  a  lively  fashion  through  the  valley  of  the 
Rhone.  It  met  the  train  midway,  retarding  its  ad- 
•vance  and  driving  everything  before  it,  the  trees 
bent  over  in  an  attitude  of  flight  as  well  as  the  far- 
away Alpilles,  the  sun  shaken  by  the  sudden 
eclipses,  whilst  in  the  distance  under  a  rapid  gleam 
of  sunshine  the  town  of  Aps  grouped  its  monu- 
ments about  the  ancient  tower  of  the  Antonines, 
just  as  a  herd  of  cattle  huddles  on  the  wide  plain 
of  the  Camargue  about  the  oldest  bull  in  order  to 
break  the  force  of  the  wind. 

So  it  was  that  Numa  made  his  entrance  into  the 
station  to  the  sound  of  that  magnificent  trumpet- 
ing of  the  mistral. 

The  family  had  kept  his  arrival  secret  through  a 


H or  tense  Le  Quesnoy,  375 

feeling  of  delicacy  like  his  own,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  Orpheons  and  banners  and  solemn  deputations. 
Aunt  Portal  alone  awaited  him,  majestically  in- 
stalled in  the  arm-chair  belonging  to  the  keeper 
of  the  station,  with  a  warmer  under  her  feet.  As 
soon  as  she  perceived  her  nephew  the  big  rosy  face 
of  the  stout  lady,  which  had  expanded  in  her 
reposeful  position,  took  on  a  despairing  expression 
and  swelled  up  under  the  white  lace  cap,  and 
stretching  out  her  arms  she  burst  into  sobs  and 
lamentations : 

^^ Aie  de  nous,  what  a  misfortune!  .  .  .  Such  a 
pretty  little  thing,  p^chere  !  .  .  .'and  so  good !  .  .  . 
and  so  gentle  !  .  .  .  you  would  take  your  bread 
from  your  mouth  for  her  sake.  .  .  .'* 

"Great  Heavens,  is  it  all  over?"  thought  Rou- 
mestan  as  he  reverted  quickly  to  the  real  pur- 
pose of  his  journey. 

His  aunt  suddenly  interrupted  her  vociferations 
and  said  coldly  and  in  a  hard  tone  to  the  servant 
who  had  forgotten  the  foot-warmer: 

**  Menicle,  the  banquette ! "  then  she  took  up 
again  on  the  pitch  of  a  frenzy  of  'grief  the  story  of 
the  virtues  of  Mile.  Le  Quesnoy,  calling  with  loud 
cries  upon  heaven  and  its  angels  to  know  why 
they  had  not  taken  her  in  place  of  that  child  and 
shaking  Numa's  arm  with  her  explosions  of  sorrow; 
for  she  was  leaning  on  him  in  order  to  reach  her 
old  coach  at  the  slow  gait  of  a  funeral  procession. 

The  horses  advanced  slowly  under  the  leafless 
trees  of  the  Avenue  Berchere  in  a  whirlwind  of 
branches  and  dry  bits   of  bark  which  the   mistral 


2)^6  Numa  Roumestan, 

was  scattering  as  a  poor  sort  of  welcome  before  the 
illustrious  traveller.  At  the  end  of  the  road 
where  the  porters  had  formed  the  habit  of  taking 
the  horses  out  Menicle  was  obliged  to  crack  his 
whip  many  times,  so  surprised  at  this  indifference 
for  the  great  man  did  the  horses  seem  to  be.  As 
for  Roumestan,  he  was  only  thinking  of  the  horrible 
news  which  he  had  just  learned,  and  holding  the 
two  doll  hands  of  his  aunt,  who  kept  constantly 
drying  her  eyes,  he  gently  asked :  "  When  did  it 
happen?  " 

"What  happen?" 

"When  did  she  die,  the  poor  little  dear?" 
Aunt  Portal  bounced  up  on  her  thick  cushions : 
"  Die?  —  Bou  Diou  /  —  who  ever  told  you  that 
she  was  dead?  " 

Then  she  added  at  once  with  a  deep  sigh: 
"  Only,  p^chere,  she  will  not  be  here  for  long." 
Ah,  no,  not  for  very  long,  for  now  she  no  longer 
got  up,  never  leaving  the  lace-covered  pillows,  on 
which  from  day  to  day  her  little  thin  head  became 
less  and  less  recognizable,  painted  as  it  was  on  the 
cheek-bones  with  a  burning  red  cosmetic,  whilst 
the  eyes  and  nostrils  were  outlined  in  blue.  With 
her  ivory-white  hands  lying  on  the  linen  of  the  bed- 
clothes and  a  little  hand-glass  and  comb  near  her 
to  arrange  from  time  to  time  her  beautiful  brown 
hair,  she  lay  for  hours  without  a  word  because 
of  the  wretched  roughness  that  had  invaded  her 
voice,  her  look  lost  off  there  on  the  tips  of  the 
trees  and  in  the  brilliant  sky  over  the  old  garden 
of  the  Portal  mansion. 


H or  tense  Le  Ques7toy.  2>77 

That  evening  her  dreamy  immobility  lasted  so 
long  while  the  flames  of  the  setting  sun  reddened 
all  the  chamber  that  her  sister  grew  anxious : 

"Are  you  asleep?" 

Hortense  shook  her  head  as  if  she  wished  to 
drive  something  away : 

*'  No,  I  was  not  asleep,  and  yet  I  was  dreaming 
—  I  was  dreaming  that  I  am  going  to  die.  I  was 
just  on  the  borders  of  this  world  and  leaning 
over  into  the  other.  Yes,  leaning  over  enough  to 
fall.  I  could  see  you  still  and  some  parts  of  my 
room,  but  all  the  same  I  was  quite  over  on  the  other 
side,  and  what  struck  me  most  was  the  silence  of 
this  life  in  comparison  with  the  tremendous  sound 
that  the  dead  were  making.  A  sound  of  a  bee- 
hive, of  flapping  wings  and  the  low  rustling  of  an 
ant-heap  —  the  murmur  which  the  sea  leaves  in 
the  heart  of  its  shells.  It  was  just  as  if  the  realms 
of  death  were  far  more  thickly  peopled  and  encum- 
bered than  life.  And  all  this  noise  was  so  intense 
that  it  seemed  to  me  my  ears  heard  for  the  first  time 
and  that  I  had  discovered  in  me  a  new  sense." 

She  talked  slowly  in  her  rough  and  hissing 
voice.  After  a  silence  she  employed  whatever 
there  was  left  in  the  way  of  strength  in  that  broken 
and  wretched  instrument: 

"  O  !  my  head  is  always  on  the  journey.  —  First 
prize  for  imagination  —  Hortense  Le  Quesnoy  of 
Paris."  A  sob  was  heard  which  was  drowned  in 
the  noise  of  a  shutting  door. 

"  You  see,"  said  Rosalie,  "  Mamma  had  to  leave 
the  room.     You  hurt  her  feelings  so." 


2,y8  Numa  Roumestan, 

"On  purpose  —  every  day  a  little  —  so  that 
she  shall  have  less  to  suffer  at  the  last,"  answered 
the  young  girl  in  a  whisper.  The  mistral  was 
galloping  through  the  big  corridors  of  the  old 
Provencal  mansion,  groaning  under  the  doorways 
and  shaking  them  with  furious  blows.  Hortense 
smiled. 

"Do  you  hear  that?  O,  I  love  that,  it  makes 
me  feel  as  if  I  were  far  away  —  off  in  the  country. 
Poor  darling,"  added  she,  taking  her  sister's  hand 
and  carrying  it  with  a  weary  gesture  as  far  as 
her  mouth,  "  what  a  mean  trick  I  have  played 
you  without  intending  to  —  here  is  your  little  one 
coming  who  '11  be  a  Southerner  all  through  my 
fault  —  and  you  will  never  forgive  me  for  it,  Fran- 
ciotel "  Through  the  clamor  of  the  wind  the  whistle 
of  a  locomotive  reached  her  and  made  her  shiver. 

"  Ah,  ha,  the  seven  o'clock  train  !  " 

Like  all  sick  people  and  prisoners,  she  knew 
what  the  slightest  sounds  about  her  meant  and 
mingled  them  with  her  motionless  existence,  just 
as  she  did  the  horizon  before  her,  the  grove  of 
pines  and  the  old  weather-beaten  Roman  tower  on 
the  slope.  From  that  moment  on  she  became  anx- 
ious and  agitated,  watching  the  door  at  which  at 
Jast  a  servant  appeared. 

"  That 's  right,"  said  Hortense,  in  a  lively  way, 
and  smiling  at  her  big  sister:  "Just  a  minute,  will 
you?  —  I  will  call  you  again." 

Rosalie  thought  it  was  a  visit  from  the  priest 
bringing  his  parochial  Latin  and  his  terrifying  con- 
solations, so  she  went  down  into  the  garden,  which 


Hor tense  Le  Quesnoy.  379 

was  a  truly  Southern  enclosure  without  any  flowers, 
but  with  alleys  of  box  sheltered  by  high  cypresses 
that  withstood  the  wind.  Ever  since  she  had  been 
sick-nurse  she  had  gone  thither  to  get  a  breath  of 
air  and  to  conceal  her  tears  and  to  slacken  a  little 
all  the  nervous  contractions  of  her  sorrow.  Oh, 
how  well  she  understood  that  speech  made  by  her 
mother : 

*•  There  is  no  sorrow  which  is  irreparable  but 
one,  and  that  is  the  loss  of  the  person  we  love." 

Her  other  sorrow,  her  happiness  as  a  woman 
all  destroyed,  was  quite  in  the  background;  she 
thought  of  nothing  except  that  horrible  and  inevi- 
table thing  which  was  approaching  day  by  day. 
Was  it  the  evening  hour,  that  red  and  deepening  sun 
which  left  all  the  garden  in  shadow  and  yet  lingered 
on  the  panes  of  the  house,  or  that  mournful  wind 
blowing  high  up  which  she  could  hear  without 
feeling  it?  At  that  moment  she  felt  a  melancholy, 
an  anguish  which  could  not  be  expressed  in  words. 
Hortense !  her  Hortense !  more  than  a  sister  for 
her,  almost  a  daughter  .  .  .  she  had  in  Hortense  the 
first  happiness  of  a  premature  mother's  love. 

Sobs  oppressed  her,  sobs  without  tears;  she 
would  have  liked  to  cry  aloud  and  call  for  help,  but 
on  whom?  The  sky,  toward  which  the  despairing 
raise  their  eyes,  was  so  high,  so  far,  so  cold ;  it  was 
as  if  polished  off  by  the  hurricane.  Through  that 
sky  a  flight  of  migrating  birds  was  hurrying,  but 
neither  their  cries  nor  their  wings  which  made 
as  much  noise  as  flapping  sails  could  be  heard 
below.      How    then    could    a    single    voice   from 


380  Numa  Roumestan, 

earth  reach  and  attain  those  silent  and  indifferent 
abysses  ? 

Nevertheless  she  made  a  trial  and  with  her  face 
turned  toward  the  light  which  moved  ever  upward 
and  was  passing  from  the  roof  of  the  old  house, 
she  made  her  prayer  to  Him  who  has  thought  fit  to 
conceal  Himself  and  protect  Himself  from  our 
sorrows  and  lamentations  —  Him  whom  some  adore 
confidentially  with  their  brows  against  the  earth, 
but  others  forlornly  search  for  with  their  arms 
wide  apart,  while  others  finally  threaten  Him  with 
their  fists  and  revolt  against  Him,  denying  Him  in 
order  to  be  able  to  forgive  His  cruelties. 

And  denial  of  this  sort,  blasphemy  of  this  kind 
—  that  also  is  prayer. 

She  was  called  to  the  house  and  ran  in  trembling 
with  fear  because  she  had  reached  that  nervous 
terror  when  the  slightest  noise  re-echoes  from  the 
very  depth  of  one's  being.  The  sick  girl  drew  her 
near  to  her  bed  with  her  smile,  for  she  had  neither 
strength  nor  voice,  as  if  she  had  just  been  talking 
a  long  time. 

*'  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,  my  darling  —  you 
know  what  I  mean,  that  final  favor  which  people 
grant  to  one  who  is  condemned  to  die  —  forgive 
your  husband !  He  has  been  very  wicked  and 
unworthy  of  you,  but  be  indulgent  and  return  to 
his  side.  Do  this  for  me,  dear  sister,  and  for  our 
parents,  whom  your  separation  grieves  to  death 
and  who  will  soon  need  greatly  that  all  should  close 
round  about  them  and  surround  them  with  tender 
care.     Numa  is  so  lively,  there  is  no  one  like  him 


Hortense  Le  Quesnoy,  381 

for  putting  a  little  spirit  into  them.  ...  It  is  all 
over,  is  it  not?     You  forgive?'* 

Rosalie  answered,  "Yes,  I  give  you  my  promise." 

Of  what  value  was  this  sacrifice  of  her  pride  be- 
side this  irreparable  disaster?  Standing  straight 
beside  the  bed  she  closed  her  eyes  a  moment, 
keeping  back  her  tears  —  a  hand  which  trembled 
rested  upon  hers.  There  he  was  in  front  of  her, 
trembling,  wretched  and  overwhelmed  by  an  effu- 
sion of  heart  which  he  dared  not  show. 

"  Kiss  each  other,"  said  Hortense. 

RosaHe  bent  her  brow  forward  and  Numa  kissed 
it  timidly.  "No,  no,  not  that  way  —  both  arms, 
the  way  one  does  when  one  really  loves." 

Numa  seized  his  wife  and  clasped  her  with  one 
long  sob,  whilst  the  twilight  fell  in  the  great  cham- 
ber as  an  act  of  pity  for  the  girl  who  had  thrown 
them  one  upon  the  other's  heart. 

This  was  her  last  manifestation  of  life.  From 
that  moment  she  remained  absorbed,  indifferent 
and  unaware  of  what  passed  about  her,  never 
answering  those  disconsolate  appeals  of  farewell  to 
which  there  is  no  answer,  but  still  keeping  upon 
her  young  face  that  expression  of  haughty  under- 
lying anger  which  those  show  who  die  too  early 
for  the  ardor  of  the  life  that  is  in  them  —  those  to 
whom  the  disillusions  of  existence  have  not  had 
time  to  speak  their  last  word. 


;^82  Numa  Roumestan. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  BAPTISM. 

The  important  day  at  Aps  is  Monday  because  it  is 
market  day. 

Long  before  daylight  the  roads  that  lead  to  the 
city,  the  great  solitary  turnpikes  from  Aries  and 
Avignon,  where  the  white  dust  lies  as  quiet  as  a 
fall  of  snow,  are  enlivened  by  the  slow  grinding 
noise  of  the  carts  and  the  squawking  of  chickens  in 
their  osier  crates  and  the  barking  of  dogs  running 
alongside ;  or  by  that  rustling  sound  of  a  shower 
which  the  passage  of  a  flock  of  sheep  produces, 
accompanied  by  the  long  blouse  of  the  shepherd 
which  one  perceives  as  he  is  carried  along  by  the 
bounding  wave  of  his  beasts.  Then  there  are  cries 
of  the  cow-boys  panting  in  the  rear  of  their  cattle 
and  the  dull  sound  of  sticks  falling  upon  humpy 
backs  and  outlines  of  horsemen  armed  with  cow- 
punches  in  trident  form.  Slowly  and  gropingly 
all  these  phantoms  are  swallowed  up  by  the  dark 
gateways  whose  crenelations  are  seen  in  festoons 
against  the  starry  sky;  thence  it  spreads  wide 
again  into  the  corso  which  surrounds  the  sleepy 
city. 

At  that  hour  the  town  takes  on  itself  again  its 
character  of  an  old  Roman  and  Saracen  city,  with 


The  Baptism.  383 

its  irregular  roofs  and  pointed  moucharabies  above 
the  broken  and  dangerous  stairways.  This  con- 
fused murmur  of  men  and  sleepy  beasts  penetrates 
with  but  little  noise  between  the  silvery  trunks  of 
the  big  plane-trees,  overflows  upon  the  avenue  and 
even  into  the  courtyards  of  the  houses  and  stirs 
up  warm  odors  of  litters  and  fragrances  of  herbs 
and  ripe  fruit.  When  it  wakes,  therefore,  the  town 
discovers  that  it  has  been  captured  in  every  quarter 
by  an  enormous,  lively  and  noisy  market,  just  as  if 
the  entire  agricultural  part  of  Provence,  men  and 
beasts,  fruits  and  seeds,  had  roused  up  and  come 
together  in  one  great  nocturnal  inundation. 

In  truth  it  is  a  magnificent  sight,  a  pouring  forth 
of  rustic  wealth  that  changes  with  the  seasons.  In 
certain  places  set  apart  by  immemorial  usage  the 
oranges  and  pomegranates,  golden  colored  quinces, 
sorbs,  green  and  yellow  melons,  are  piled  up  near 
the  booths  in  rows  and  in  heaps  by  the  thousand ; 
peaches,  figs  and  grapes  destroy  themselves  by 
their  own  weight  in  their  baskets  of  transportation 
side  by  side  with  vegetables  in  sacks.  Sheep  and 
silky  pigs  and  little  cabris  (kids)  show  airs  of 
weariness  within  the  palisades  of  their  small  reser- 
vations. Oxen  fastened  to  the  yoke  stride  along 
before  the  buyer,  while  bulls  with  smoking  nostrils 
drag  at  the  iron  ring  which  holds  them  to  the  wall. 
And  farther  on,  quantities  of  horses,  the  little 
horses  from  the  Camargue  —  dwarf  Arabs —  prance 
about  mingling  their  brown,  white  or  russet  manes ; 
upon  being  called  by  name,  "■  Te  !  Lucifer —  Ti! 
TEsterel  — "   they  run   up   to  eat  oats   from  the 


384  Numa  Roumestan, 

hands  of  their  keepers,  veritable  Gauchos  of  the 
pampas  with  boots  above  the  knee.  Then  come 
the  poultry  two  by  two,  red  and  fastened  by  the 
legs,  guinea  fowl  and  chickens  lying,  not  without 
much  banging  of  the  earth  with  their  wings,  at  the 
feet  of  their  mistresses  who  are  drawn  up  in  a  line. 
Then  there  is  the  fish  market,  with  eels  alive  on 
fennel  and  trout  from  the  Sorgue  and  the  Durance, 
mixing  their  shining  scales  in  rainbow  agonies  with 
all  the  rest  of  the  color.  And  last  of  all,  at  the  very 
end,  in  a  sort  of  dry  winter  forest  are  the  wooden 
spades  and  hay-forks  and  rakes,  new  and  very 
white,  which  rise  between  the  plows  and  harrows. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  corso  against  the  ram- 
part the  unhitched  wagons  stand  in  line,  with 
their  canopies  and  linen  covers  and  high  curtains 
and  dusty  wheels,  and  all  through  the  space  left 
vacant  the  noisy  crowd  circulates  with  difficulty, 
with  calls  and  discussions  and  chattering  in  all 
kinds  of  dialects  and  accents  —  the  Provencal 
accent,  which  is  refined  and  full  of  airs  and  graces 
and  requires  certain  movements  of  the  head  and 
shoulder  and  a  bold  sort  of  mimicry,  while  that 
of  Languedoc  is  harder  and  heavier  and  almost 
Spanish  in  its  articulation.  From  time  to  time 
this  mass  of  felt  hats  and  head-dresses  from  Aries 
or  the  Comt^,  this  difficult  circulation  of  a  mob  of 
buyers  and  sellers,  splits  in  two  at  the  cries  from 
some  lagging  cart  which  comes  slowly  forward 
with  great  difficulty  at  a  snail's  pace. 

The  burgesses  of  the  city  hardly  appear,  so  full 
of  scorn  are  they  at  this  invasion  from  the  coun- 


The  Baptism,  385 

try,  which  nevertheless  is  the  occasion  of  its 
originality  and  the  source  of  its  wealth.  From 
morning  to  night  the  peasants  are  walking  through 
the  streets,  stopping  at  the  booths,  at  the  harness- 
makers,  shoemakers  and  watchmakers,  staring 
at  the  metal  figures  of  the  clock  on  the  City  Hall 
and  into  the  shop  windows,  dazzled  by  the  gilding 
and  mirrors  of  the  restaurants,  just  as  the  rustics 
in  Theocritus  stood  and  stared  at  the  Palace  of  the 
Ptolemies.  Some  issue  from  the  drug  shops  laden 
with  parcels  and  big  bottles;  others,  and  they 
form  a  wedding  procession,  enter  the  jeweller's  to 
choose,  after  long  and  cunning  bargains,  ear-rings 
with  long  pendent  pieces  and  the  necklace  for  the 
coming  bride.  And  these  coarse  gowns,  these 
brown  and  wild-looking  faces  and  their  eager, 
businesslike  manner  make  one  think  of  some  town 
in  La  Vendee  taken  by  the  Chouans  at  the  time  of 
the  great  wars. 

That  morning,  the  third  Monday  of  February, 
animation  was  very  lively ;  the  crowd  was  as  thick 
as  on  the  finest  summer  days,  which  indeed  it 
suggested  through  its  cloudless  sky  warmed  by  a 
golden  sun.  People  were  talking  and  gesticulat- 
ing in  groups,  but  what  agitated  them  was 
less  the  buying  and  selling  than  a  certain  event 
which  caused  all  traffic  to  cease  and  turned  all 
looks  and  heads  and  even  the  broad  eyes  of  the 
oxen  and  the  twitching  ears  of  the  little  Camargue 
horses  toward  the  Church  of  Sainte  Perpetue. 
The  fact  was  that  a  rumor  had  just  spread  through 
the  market,  where  it  occasioned  an  emotion  that 

25 


2,86  Numa  Roumestan, 

ran  to  extraordinary  height,  to  the  effect  that 
to-day  the  son  of  Numa  would  be  baptized  — 
that  same  Httle  Roumestan  whose  birth  three 
weeks  before  had  been  received  with  transports 
of  joy  in  Aps  and  the  entire  Provencal  South. 
Unfortunately  this  baptism,  which  had  been  de- 
layed because  of  the  deep  mourning  the  family 
was  in,  had  to  preserve  the  appearance  of  incog- 
nito for  the  very  same  reason,  and  it  is  probable 
that  the  ceremony  would  have  passed  unperceived 
had  it  not  been  for  certain  old  sorceresses  belong- 
ing to  the  country  about  Les  Baux  who  every 
Monday  install  upon  the  front  steps  of  Sainte 
Perpetue  a  little  market  of  aromatic  herbs  and 
dried  and  perfumed  simples  culled  among  the 
Alpilles.  Seeing  the  coach  of  Aunt  Portal  stop- 
ping in  front  of  the  church,  the  old  herb-sellers 
gave  the  alarm  to  the  women  who  sell  aiets  (gar- 
lic), who  move  about  pretty  much  everywhere 
from  one  end  of  the  corso  to  the  other  with  their 
arms  crammed  with  the  shining  wreaths  of  their 
wares.  The  garlic  women  notified  the  fish  dames 
and  very  soon  the  little  street  which  leads  to  the 
church  poured  forth  upon  the  little  square  all  the 
gossip  and  excitement  of  the  market-place.  They 
pressed  about  Menicle,  who  sat  erect  on  the  box 
in  deep  mourning  with  crape  on  his  arm  and  hat 
and  merely  answered  all  questions  with  a  silent 
and  indifferent  play  of  his  shoulders.  Spite  of 
everything,  they  insisted  upon  waiting,  and  in  the 
mercer's  street  beneath  the  bands  of  calico  the 
crowd  piled  itself  up  to  suffocation  while  the  bolder 


The  Baptism,  2i^'j 

spirits  mounted  the  well-curb  —  all  eyes  fixed  on  the 
grand  portal  of  the  church,  which  at  last  opened. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  "  ah !  "  as  when  fire- 
works are  let  off,  a  triumphant  and  modulated 
sound  which  was  cut  short  by  the  sight  of  a  tall 
old  man  dressed  in  black,  very  much  overwhelmed 
and  very  melancholy,  who  gave  his  arm  to 
Madame  Portal,  who  as  far  as  she  was  concerned 
was  very  proud  to  have  served  as  godmother 
along  with  the  First  President,  proud  of  their  two 
names  side  by  side  on  the  parish  register;  but 
she  was  saddened  by  the  recent  mourning  and 
the  sorrowful  impressions  which  she  had  just 
renewed  once  more  in  the  church.  The  crowd 
had  a  feeling  of  severe  deception  at  sight  of  this 
austere  couple,  who  were  followed  by  the  great 
man  of  Aps,  also  entirely  in  black  and  with  gloves 
on  —  Numa,  penetrated  by  the  solitude  and  cold 
of  this  baptism  performed  in  the  midst  of  four 
candles  without  any  other  music  than  the  wailing 
of  the  little  child,  upon  whom  the  Latin  of  the 
function  and  the  baptismal  water  dropping  on  a 
tender  little  head  like  that  of  an  unfledged  bird 
had  caused  the  most  disagreeable  impression. 
But  the  appearance  of  a  richly  fed  nurse,  large, 
heavy  and  decked  with  ribbons  like  a  prize  at  an 
agricultural  meet,  and  the  sparkling  little  parcel  of 
laces  and  white  embroidery  which  she  carried  like 
a  sash,  dissipated  the  melancholy  of  the  specta- 
tors and  roused  a  new  cry  that  sounded  like  a 
mounting  rocket,  a  joy  scattered  into  a  thousand 
enthusiastic  exclamations : 


388  Numa  Roumestan, 

**  Lou  vaqui  ! —  there  he  is  !  Ve  !  v^  !  " 
Surprised  and  dazzled,  winking  in  the  bright 
sunHght,  Numa  stopped  a  moment  on  the  high 
porch  in  order  to  look  at  these  Moorish  faces, 
this  closely  packed  herding  together  of  a  black 
flock  from  which  a  crazy  tenderness  mounted  up 
to  where  he  stood.  And  although  tired  of  ovations, 
at  that  moment  he  had  one  of  the  most  lively 
emotions  in  his  existence  as  a  public  man,  a  proud 
intoxication  which  an  entirely  new  and  already 
very  lively  sentiment  of  paternity  ennobled.  He 
was  about  to  speak  and  then  remembered  that  this 
platform  in  front  of  the  church  was  not  the  place 
for  it. 

"Get  in,  nurse,"  said  he  to  the  tranquil  wet- 
nurse  from  Bourgogne,  whose  eyes,  like  those  of  a 
milch  cow,  were  staring  wide  open  in  amazement. 
And  while  she  was  bestowing  herself  with  her 
light  burden  in  the  coach  he  advised  Menicle  to 
return  quickly  by  the  cross  streets.  But  a  tre- 
mendous clamor  answered  him : 

"  No,  no,  the  grand  round  —  the  grand  round !  '* 
They   meant   that    he   should    pass   the    entire 
length  of  the  market  place. 

"  Well  then,  the  grand  round  be  it ! "  said 
Roumestan  after  having  consulted  his  father-in- 
law  with  a  look;  for  he  wished  to  spare  him  this 
joyful  procession;  and  so  the  coach,  starting  with 
many  crackings  of  its  ancient  and  heavy  carcass, 
entered  the  little  street  and  debouched  upon  the 
cor  so  in  the  midst  of  vivas  from  the  crowd,  which 
grew  excited  over  its  own  cries  and  culminated  in 


The  Baptism,  389 

a  whirl  of  enthusiasm  so  as  to  block  the  way  of 
horses  and  wheels  at  every  moment.  With  the 
windows  open  they  marched  slowly  on  through 
these  acclamations,  raised  hats,  fluttering  handker- 
chiefs and  all  the  odors  and  hot  breaths  which  the 
market  exhaled  as  they  passed.  The  women  stuck 
their  ardent  bronzed  heads  forward  right  into  the 
carriage  and  at  seeing  no  more  than  the  cap  of 
the  little  baby  would  exclaim : 

''  Diou!  lou  bku  drolef'  (My  God!  what  a 
lovely  child !) 

*'  He  looks  just  like  his  father  —  qn^  ?  " 

**  Already  has  his  Bourbon  nose  and  his  fine 
manners !  " 

".  Show  it  to  us,  my  darling,  show  us  your  beau- 
tiful man's  face." 

"  He  is  as  lovely  as  an  ^%g !  " 

"  You  could  drink  him  in  a  glass  of  water !  " 

"  7y  /  my  treasure  !  " 

"  My  little  quail !  " 

"  My  lambkin  —  my  guinea-hen ! " 

"  My  lovely  pearl !  " 

And  these  women  wrapped  and  licked  him  with 
the  brown  flame  from  their  eyes.  But  he,  a  child 
but  one  month  old,  was  not  scared  in  the  least. 
Waked  up  by  all  this  noise  and  leaning  back  on 
the  cushion  with  its  bows  of  pink  ribbon,  he  re- 
garded everything  with  his  little  cat  eyes,  the 
pupils  dilated  and  fixed,  with  two  drops  of  milk 
at  the  corners  of  his  lips.  And  there  he  lay,  calm 
and  evidently  pleased  at  these  apparitions  of  heads 
at   the  windows   and   these   growing   noises  with 


390  Numa  Roumestan, 

which  soon  mingled  the  baaing,  mooing  and 
braying  of  the  cattle,  seized  as  they  were  by 
a  formidable  nervous  imitation,  all  their  necks 
stretched  out  and  mouths  open  and  jaws  yawning 
to  the  glory  of  Roumestan  and  his  offspring ! 
Even  then,  at  a  time  when  everybody  else  in  the 
carriage  was  holding  their  stunned  ears  with  both 
hands,  the  Httle  man  remained  perfectly  impas- 
sible, so  that  his  coolness  even  broke  up  the 
solemn  features  of  the  old  President,  who  said : 

"  Well,  if  that  fellow  was  not  born  for  the 
forum !  " 

On  leaving  the  market  they  hoped  to  be  rid  of 
all  this,  but  the  crowd  followed  them,  being  joined 
as  they  went  by  the  weavers  on  the  Chemin-neuf, 
the  yarn-makers  in  womanly  bands  and  the  porters 
from  the  Avenue  Berchere.  The  shopmen  ran  to 
the  threshold  of  their  stores,  the  balcony  of  the 
Club  of  the  Whites  was  flooded  with  people  and 
presently  with  their  banners  the  Orpheons  de- 
bouched from  all  the  streets  singing  their  choral 
songs  and  giving  musical  bursts,  just  as  if  Numa 
had  arrived ;  but  along  with  it  all  there  went 
something  gayer  and  more  unhackneyed,  some- 
thing beyond  the  habitual  merry-making. 

In  the  finest  room  belonging  to  the  Portal  Man- 
sion, whose  white  wainscots  and  rich  silks  belonged 
to  the  last  century,  Rosalie  was  stretched  upon  an 
invalid's  chair,  turning  her  eyes  now  upon  the 
empty  cradle  and  then  upon  the  deserted  and  sunny 
street;  she  grew  impatient  as  she  waited  for  the 
return   of  her   child.     On  her  fine  features,   pale 


The  Baptism,  391 

and  creased  with  fatigue  and  tears,  one  might  see 
nevertheless  something  like  a  happy  restfulness; 
yet  one  could  read  there  the  whole  history  of  her 
existence  throughout  the  last  two  months,  her  anx- 
ieties and  tortures,  her  rupture  with  Numa,  the 
death  of  her  dear  Hortense  and  at  last  the 
birth  of  the  child,  which  swept  everything  else 
into  insignificance. 

When  this  great  happiness  really  came  to  her 
she  did  not  believe  it  possible ;  broken  by  so  many 
blows,  she  did  not  believe  herself  capable  of  giving 
life  to  anything.  During  the  last  days  she  even 
imagined  that  she  no  longer  felt  the  impatient 
movements  of  the  little  captive,  and  although 
cradle  and  layette  were  all  ready  she  hid  them, 
moved  by  a  superstitious  fear,  and  merely  notified 
the  Englishwoman  who  took  care  of  her: 

**  If  child's  clothes  are  asked  for,  you  will  know 
where  to  find  them." 

It  is  nothing  to  abandon  oneself  to  a  bed  of  tor- 
ture with  closed  eyes  and  clenched  teeth  for  many, 
many  long  hours,  interrupted  every  five  minutes 
by  a  terrible  cry  that  tears  and  compels  one ;  it  is 
nothing  to  undergo  one's  destiny  as  a  victim  all  of 
whose  happy  moments  must  be  dearly  bought  — 
if  there  is  hope  at  the  end  of  it  all.  But  what 
horrible  martyrdom  in  the  final  pain  when,  struck 
by  a  supreme  disillusionment,  the  almost  animal 
lamentations  of  the  woman  are  mingled  with  the 
deeper  sobs  of  deceived  maternity !  Half  dead 
and  bleeding,  she  kept  repeating  from  the  bottom 
of  her  annihilation :  "  He  is  dead  —  he  is  dead  !  " 


392  Numa  Roumestan. 

—  when  she  heard  that  trial  of  a  voice,  that 
respiration  and  cry  in  one,  that  appeal  for  light 
which  the  newborn  infant  makes.  Ah,  with  what 
overflowing  tenderness  did  she  not  respond ! 

'*  My  little  one  !  " 

He  lived  and  they  brought  him  to  her.  So  this 
was  hers  after  all,  this  little  creature  short  of 
breath,  dazzled  and  startled  —  almost  blind  !  This 
small  affair  in  the  flesh  connected  her  again  with 
life,  and  merely  by  pressing  it  against  her  all  the 
feverishness  of  her  body  was  drowned  by  a  sensa- 
tion of  comfortable  coolness.  No  more  mourning, 
no  more  wretchedness !  Here  was  her  son,  that 
desire  and  regret  which  she  had  endured  for  ten 
years  and  had  burnt  her  eyes  with  tears  whenever 
she  saw  the  children  of  other  people,  that  very 
same  baby  which  she  had  kissed  so  often  before- 
hand upon  so  many  other  lovely  little  rosy  cheeks  ! 
There  he  was,  and  he  caused  her  a  new  ravish- 
ment and  surprise  every  time  that  she  leaned  from 
her  bed  over  his  cradle  and  swept  aside  the 
covers  that  hid  a  slumber  that  could  hardly  be 
heard  and  the  shivery  and  contracted  positions  of 
a  newly  born  child.  She  wanted  to  have  him 
always  near  her.  When  he  went  out  she  was  anx- 
ious and  counted  every  minute.  But  never  had 
she  experienced  quite  so  much  anguish  as  upon 
this  morning  of  the  baptism. 

"What  time  is  it?"  asked  she  every  minute. 
"  How  long  they  are !  Heavens,  what  a  time 
they  take!" 

Mme.  Le  Quesnoy,  who  had  remained  behind 


The  Baptism,  393 

with  her  daughter,  reassured  her,  although  she  was 
herself  a  little  anxious ;  for  this  grandson,  the  first 
and  only  one,  was  very  close  to  the  heart  of  his 
grandparents  and  lighted  up  their  mourning  with  a 
hope.  A  distant  clamor  which  grew  deeper  as  it 
approached  increased  the  trouble  of  the  two 
women.  Running  to  the  window  they  listened  — 
choral  songs,  gunshots,  clamors,  bells  ringing  like 
mad !  And  all  of  a  sudden  the  Englishwoman 
who  is  looking  out  on  the  street  cries :  "  Madame, 
it  is  the  baptism  !  " 

And  so  it  was  the  baptism,  this  noise  like  a  riot 
and  these  howlings  as  of  cannibals  around  the 
stake. 

*'  Oh,  this  South,  this  South ! "  repeated  the 
young  mother,  now  very  much  frightened,  for  she 
feared  that  her  little  one  would  be  suffocated  in 
the  press. 

But  not  at  all ;  here  he  was,  very  alive  indeed, 
in  splendid  case,  waving  his  short  little  arms  with 
his  eyes  wide  open,  wearing  the  long  baptismal 
robe  whose  decorations  Rosalie  herself  had  em- 
broidered and  whose  laces  she  herself  had  sewed 
on  ;  it  was  the  robe  meant  for  the  other ;  and  so  it 
is  her  two  sons  in  one,  the  dead  and  the  living 
one,  whom  she  owns  to-day. 

"  He  did  not  make  a  cry,  or  ask  for  milk  a 
single  time  the  whole  journey!"  Aunt  Portal  af- 
firms, and  then  goes  on  to  relate  in  her  picturesque 
way  the  triumphal  tour  of  the  town,  whilst  in  the 
old  hotel,  which  has  suddenly  become  the  old 
house  for  ovations,  all  the  doors  slam  and  the  ser- 


394  Numa  Roumestan, 

vants  rush  out  into  the  porch  where  the  musicians 
are  being  regaled  with  gazeuse.  The  musical 
bursts  resound  and  the  panes  tremble  in  every 
window.  The  old  Le  Quesnoys  have  gone  out 
into  the  garden  to  get  away  from  this  jollity  which 
overwhelms  them  with  grief,  and  since  Roumestan 
is  about  to  make  a  speech  from  the  balcony,  Aunt 
Portal  and  Polly  the  Englishwoman  run  quickly 
into  the  drawing-room  to  listen. 

"  If  Madame  would  be  so  kind  as  to  hold  the 
baby?"  asks  the  wet-nurse,  as  consumed  with 
curiosity  as  a  wild  woman.  And  Rosahe  is  only 
too  happy  to  remain  behind  with  her  child  upon 
her  knees.  From  her  window  she  can  see  the 
banners  gHttering  in  the  wind  and  the  crowd 
densely  crushed  together  and  spellbound  by  the 
words  of  her  great  man.  Phrases  from  his  speech 
reach  her  now  and  then,  but  more  than  all  else 
she  hears  the  tone  of  that  captivating  and  moving 
voice,  and  a  sorrowful  shudder  passes  through  her 
at  thought  of  all  the  evil  which  has  come  to  her 
by  way  of  that  eloquence,  so  ready  to  lie  and  to 
dupe  others. 

At  last  it  is  all  over ;  she  feels  that  she  has 
reached  a  point  where  deceptions  and  wounds  can 
hurt  her  no  more ;  she  has  a  child,  and  that  sums 
up  all  her  happiness,  all  her  dreams  !  And  holding 
him  up  like  a  buckler  she  hugs  the  dear  little 
creature  to  her  breast  and  questions  him  very  low 
and  very  near  by,  as  if  she  were  looking  for  some 
response,  or  some  resemblance  in  the  sketchy 
features  of  this  unformed  little  countenance,  these 


The  Baptism.  395 

dainty  lineaments  which  seem  to  have  been  im- 
pressed by  a  caress  in  wax  and  already  show  a 
sensual,  violent  mouth,  a  nose  curved  in  search  of 
adventures  and  a  soft  and  square  chin. 

"And  will  you  also  be  a  liar?  Will  you  pass 
your  life  betraying  others  and  yourself,  breaking 
those  innocent  hearts  who  have  never  done  you 
other  evil  than  to  believe  in  and  love  you  ?  Will 
you  be  possessed  of  a  light  and  cruel  inconstancy, 
taking  life  like  an  amateur  and  a  singer  of  cava- 
tinas?  Will  you  make  a  merchandise  of  words 
without  bothering  yourself  as  to  their  real  value 
and  their  connection  with  your  thought,  so  long  as 
they  are  brilliant  and  resounding?" 

And  putting  her  lips  in  a  kiss  upon  that  little 
ear  which  the  light  strands  of  hair  surround : 

**Tell  me,  are  you  going  to  be  a  Roumestan?" 

The  orator  on  the  balcony  had  lashed  himself 
up  and  had  reached  the  moment  of  effusiveness 
when  nothing  could  be  heard  except  the  final 
chords,  accentuated  in  the  Southern  manner  — 
"my  soul"  — "my  blood  "  —  "  morals  "  —  "  re- 
ligion "  —  "  our  country  "  —  punctuated  by  the  ap- 
plause of  that  audience  which  was  made  according 
to  his  image  and  which  he  summed  up  in  his  own 
self  both  in  his  qualities  and  his  vices  —  an  effer- 
vescing South,  mobile  and  tumultuous  like  a  sea 
with  many  currents,  each  of  which  spoke  of  him  ! 

There  was  a  final  viva  and  then  the  crowd  was 
heard  slowly  passing  away.  Roumestan  came 
into  the  room  mopping  his  brow;  intoxicated  by 
his  triumph  and  warmed  by  this  endless  tender- 


39^  Numa  Roumestan, 

ness  of  the  whole  people,  he  approached  his  wife 
and  kissed  her  with  a  sincere  effusion  of  sentiment. 
He  felt  himself  very  kind  to  her  and  as  tender  as 
on  the  first  day  of  their  marriage ;  never  a  bit  of 
remorse  and  never  a  bit  of  rancor  ! 

'*  Be !  just  see  how  they  make  much  of  him ! 
How  they  applaud  your  son !  "  Kneeling  before 
the  sofa  the  grand  personage  of  Aps  played  with 
his  child  and  touched  the  little  fingers  that  seized 
upon  everything  and  the  little  feet  that  kicked  out 
into  the  air. 

With  a  wrinkle  on  her  brow  Rosalie  looked  at 
him,  trying  to  define  his  contradictory  and  inex- 
plicable nature.  Then  suddenly,  as  if  she  had 
found  something: 

**  Numa,  what  was  that  proverb  you  people  use 
which  Aunt  Portal  repeated  the  other  day?  *  Joie 
de  rue '  —  how  was  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember :  *  Gau  de  carrieroy  doti- 
loii  d'otistau!  "  (Happiness  of  the  street,  sorrow 
of  the  home.) 

"That  is  it,"  said  she  with  an  expression  of 
deep  thought.  And,  letting  the  words  fall  one  by 
one  as  you  drop  stones  into  an  abyss,  she  slowly 
repeated,  putting  the  while  the  sorrow  of  her  life 
into  it,  this  proverb,  in  which  an  entire  race  has 
drawn  its  own  portrait  and  formulated  its  own 
being: 

"  Happiness  of  the  street,  sorrow  of  the  home." 

THE  END. 


THE     READABLE    BOOKS 

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48.  Ernest  Maltravers.     By  Bulwer. 

49.  Eugene  Aram.     By  Bulwer. 

54.  Fated  to  be  Free.     By  Ingelow. 

55.  Fantine.    (Les  Mis6rables,  Part 

X.)     By  Hugo. 


56. 

57. 
58. 

59- 
60. 


71. 

72. 

73- 

74- 
80. 

81. 
82. 
83. 

87. 


89. 

90. 

95- 
96. 
98. 
99. 

100. 

lOI. 

102. 

104. 

105. 
106. 
no. 
III. 

112. 

113. 
114. 


Felix  Holt.     By  George  Eliot. 
File  No.  113.     By  Gaboriau. 
Fortunes   of  Glencore.    By 

Lever. 
Forty-Five.     By  Dumas. 
Fromont  and  Risler.     By  Dau- 

det. 
Gladstone,  Life  of.     By  Lucy. 
Godolphin.     By  Bulwer. 
Great    Expectations.     By  Dick- 
ens. 
Harry  Lorrequer.     By  Liver. 
Horoscope.     By  Dumas. 
Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame.  By 

Hugo. 
Hypatia.     By  Kingsley. 
Idyll  and  the  Epic.   (Les  Mis4- 

rables,  Part  4.)     By  Hugo. 
Intellectual  Life.    By  Hamerton. 
Ivanhoe.     By  Scott. 
Invisible    Links.       By    Selma 

Lagerlof. 
Jack  Hinton,  the   Guardsman. 

By  Lever. 
Jane  Eyre.  By  Charlotte  Bronte. 
Jean   Valjean.      (Les   Mis6ra- 

bles,  Part  5.)     By  Hugo. 
John  Halifax.     By  Mulock. 
Keats'  Poetical  Works. 
Kings  in  Exile.     By  Daudet. 
Lamb's  Essays. 
Last    Days  of   Pompeii. 

Bulwer. 
Leila,  and  Calderon.  By  Bulwk«. 
Light  of  Asia.     By  Arnold. 
Lorna  Doone.     By  Blackmore. 
Letters    from    my    Mill.       By 

Daudet. 
Lord  Kilgobbin.     By  Lever. 
Lucretia.     By  Bulwer. 
Man  who  Laughs.     By  Hugo. 
Mansfield  Park.   By  Jane  Austen. 
Marcus     Aurelius    Antoninus, 

Thoughts   of. 
Marguerite  de  Valois.  By  Dumas 
Marius.  (Les  Mis6rables,  Part 

3.)      By  Hugo. 


By 


The  Readable  Books,  Continued 


115. 
116. 

117- 


118. 

119. 


125. 
126. 


127. 
128. 
130. 
131. 

132- 
133. 

134- 

138. 

139- 
140. 

141. 
142. 
143. 

144. 

145. 
146. 
150. 

155- 
156. 


Marriage.     By  Ferrier. 
Mauprat.     By  George  Sand. 
Mill  on  the   Floss.     By  George 

Eliot. 
Monte  Cristo,  3  vols.  By  Dumas. 
Miracles  of    Antichrist.     By 

Selma  Lagerlof. 
Monday  Tales.     By  Daudet. 
Ninety-Three.     By  Hugo. 
Northanger    Abbey.      By  Jane 

Austen. 
Nanon.     By  George  Sand. 
Numa  Roumestan.    By  Daudet. 
O'Donoghue.     By  Lever. 
Old  Curiosity  Shop.   By  Dickens. 
Oliver  Twist.     By  Dickens. 
Oregon  Trail.     By  Parkman. 
Off    the    Skelligs.      By  Jean 

Ingelow. 
Persuasion.     By  Jane  Austen. 
Pickwick  Papers.     By  Dickens. 
Pilgrims   of  the    Rhine.     By 

BULWER. 

Pilgrim's  Progress.   By  Bunyan. 
Pillar  of  Fire.     By  Ingraham. 
Pride  and  Prejudice.     By  Jane 

Austen. 
Prince  of  the  House  of  David. 

By  Ingraham. 
Prince  Otto.     By  Stevenson. 
Pelham.     By  Bulwer. 
Queen's  Necklace.     By  Dumas. 
Regent's  Daughter.     By  Dumas. 
Religio  Medici.     By  Sir  Thomas 

Browne. 


157. 
158. 
165. 
166. 
167. 

168. 
169. 

170. 
171. 

172. 
173. 

180. 
181. 


183. 
184. 
185. 
186. 

187. 

188. 
190. 
191. 


199. 
aoo. 
201. 


Rienzi.     By  Bui-wkr. 
Romola.     By  George  Eliot. 
Sappho.     By  Daudet. 
Sarah  de  Berenger.    By  Ingklow 
Sense  and  Sensibility.     By  Jani 

Austen. 
Sir  Jasper  Carew.     By  Lsvxr. 
Sylvandire.     By  Dumas. 
Swiss  Family  Robinson. 
Scenes  of    Clerical   Life.       B; 

George  Eliot. 
Silas  Marner.     By  George  Eliot 
Sir    Brook    Fossbrooke.     B; 

Lever. 
Tale  of  Two  Cities.    By  Dickens 
Tales   of   Mean  Streets.     B; 

Morrison. 
Three  Musketeers.     By  Dumas. 
Throne  of  David.    By  Ingraham 
Toilers  of  the  Sea.     By  Hugo. 
Treasure  Island.    By  Stevenson 
Twenty    Years    After.       B 

Dumas. 
Tartarin  of  Tarascon,  and  Tar 

tarin  on  the  Alps.    By  Daudet 
Tony  Butler.     By  Lever. 
Vanity  Fair.     By  Thackeray. 
Verdant    Green.      By   Cuthber' 

Bede. 
Vicar's    Daughter.      By  Gxorg 

Macdonald. 
"Westward  Ho  !    By  Kingsley. 
Walton's  Angler. 
Zanoni.     By  Bulwer. 


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